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BIOGRAPHY 



OF THE 



ENGLISH LANGUAGE, 



WITH CRITICAL REMARKS UPON THE WORKS OF ANCIENT AND 

MODERN AUTHORS, AND SOME ACCOUNT 

OF THEIR HISTORY : 

ALSO AN EXAMINATION INTO THE PRESENT POSITION OF 

ENGLISH AMONG THE LANGUAGES 

OF THE WORLD 



BY 



ARTHUR Mac ARTHUR, LL D. 

OF WASHINGTON, D. C. 

AUTHOR OF " EDUCATION IN ITS RELATION TO MANUAL 
INDUSTRY," ETC. 



WASHINGTON, D. C. 

W. H. LOWDRRMIIvK & Co. 

1893 



JXO^/O ^ 



1^ 






Copyright, 1893, 

By ARTHUR Mac ARTHUR, 

Of Washington, D. C. 



printed by 
Glens Falls (N. Y.) Printing Co. 



PREFACE. 



Probably the most illiterate persons in England were those who 
first spoke and heard the English language. Its very existence was 
threatened by Norman-French laws and forms of speech, but the old 
Saxon element was still a numerous body, and refused to surrender 
its vernacular. The two races were ultimately blended into one peo- 
ple, and their language was the natural result of their situation. 
The following volume is a history of this language alone. It is not 
written in the style of a treatise on the subje6l of comparative phi- 
lology, which has become one of the most profound of all the sciences, 
yet the study of our own language is a matter of the greatest import- 
ance, and the general diffusion of this knowledge is a prime induce- 
ment to the most earnest effort for its general instruction among 
those who speak it. I am persuaded that this end can be attained 
much better on its own merits than by making it a single feature in 
a concourse of all languages, and subordinating it to a comparative 
standard with others. This work is intended to be a practical account 
of our mother tongue, written in such popular form as will attract the 
average speaker of native English. I do not underrate the learning 
of the comparative philologist, nor the value of his work. I am 
quite sure that there is nothing in physical science more astonish- 
ing than the discoveries thus brought about in ethnology and in the 
history of lost races. Nations that have left no record of themselves 
have been traced out on the map of human story, and languages 
that have perished with those who spoke them have been rehabili- 
tated from words that exist only in groundless fragments. 

The study of our own language should not be altogether to show 
its value as a medium of communication with mankind, but also to 
understand its meaning, its history, and its literature. The most 
extensive erudition may be emplc5'ed in its examination, and yet 
the general intelligence of any man of ordinary education can learn 



IV. pr:EFAck. 

all that relates to its progress and development, though he has not 
the vast learning of the philologist. I therefore intend to give its 
history in such manner as can be readily understood by the ordinary 
reader of English without repelling him by technical terminology, 
or by the still more confusing perplexity of innumerable references 
and foot notes, that are so useful to the scientific student, but only 
serve to bewilder and discourage those who do not care to go outside 
of their own language. Nor do I intend to indulge in that minute- 
ness of detail which by its multiplicity overwhelms the memory of 
the layman till he gives up the task as hopeless. The intention is, 
therefore, to give a plain and easy account of English from the 
earliest times after the Conquest down to the beginning of the 
present century, and to set it off with critical remarks and slight 
biographical sketches of ancient and modern authors who have 
used it in composing their works. In carrying out this plan I 
have given seledlions, but not sufficient to weary the reader. The 
language of the early writers needs to be translated, for no one can 
understand it who has not made Early English a special study. 
There are but few who have pursued that study, and as this book is 
designed for those who have not, rather than for those who are 
learned in that remote literature, I have been careful not to draw 
too largely from these old store-houses of our vernacular, but still 
to give such passages as may afford a clear idea of what our language 
was in its early stages. I have also been careful to confine my 
selections to such authors only as may be considered landmarks 
in its progressive development; such, for instance, as La3'amon 
(Brut), Robert of Gloucester, John of Brunne, Barbour, Chaucer, 
Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, etc. The book is not a history of 
English literature, and there is no detailed sequence of authors, but 
those are selected who can afford a view of the condition of our 
tongue at the times in which they wrote. 

The effort is to present the subje6l so that all readers ma}' 
acquire a fair insight into the successive stages of its progress, and 
learn the English history of the English language without being 
called upon to understand either lyatin or Greek, or even any of 
the modern tongues. The absence of technical terms and expres- 
sions is a necessary feature in such a treatise, but occasionally it 
happens that I caimot express my meaning without a term of that 



PREFACE. V. 

charadter ; the definition will be obvious, however, from the con- 
text or from what has been already explained. 

In the remote wilds of Northern Europe a number of nations 
existed, each having a distinct name but all speaking dialedls of the 
same language. The Saxons were one of these tribes, and several 
others who were near neighbors joined them on their settlement in 
Britain. The Angles, who were probably the most numerous of the 
confederates, gave their name to the island, and the Saxons on the 
other hand gave their name to the race, and the names of both were 
merged into the double compound Anglo-Saxon. At that time 
Germany consisted of many nationalities that were known under 
the general terms of Saxons, Goths, Germans, and Teutons. We 
therefore speak of our forefathers' speech as Saxon, Gothic, Ger- 
manic, and Teutonic. These, however, mean the same people and 
the same language, and in speaking of the English it is understood 
by any one or all of these names, and in that sense I use them inter- 
changeably in the present volume. 

The division of the language into chronological periods has been 
objected to by some late writers on the ground that it is the " Eng- 
lish language," whether Saxon or Semi-Saxon, Early English, or 
Middle and Modern English. But while this is an arbitrary arrange- 
ment, I am convinced that it leads to a better understanding of the 
different phases through which it has passed, just as we speak of a 
human being in his infancy, childhood, adolescence, and maturity. 
In observing the usual arrangement I treat of the Semi-Saxon, Early 
English, Middle English, and Modern English as marking some- 
what distindl steps in the development of our tongue. They are 
not marked off by sharp lines of separation, but blend into each 
other like the hues of the rainbow, and the writers often belong to 
the last and first parts of the adjacent periods. The transition to 
our present tongue consisted principally in destroying the inflex- 
ional forms of the Anglo-Saxon. The Semi-Saxon was the first 
perceptible stage in this change, and the other divisions were each 
marked by the progress made in the same dire(5lion until inflexions 
had almost disappeared in Modem English. Other changes coin- 
cided with these successive periods, such as the disuse of the oblique 
cases in nouns and adjedlives, and the substitution of prepositions 
in their places. The dialeds also varied. The Northern was the 



VI. PRKFACB. 

first to assume a literary style, and preceded by more than a century 
those further south in getting rid of these terminations, and in 
placing words in position one after the other according to the sense. 
These distindlions justify to some extent at least the chronological 
arrangement it is proposed to adopt in this work. 

The obje6t of this book is to excite an interest in the mind of 
the general reader for his mother tongue for its own sake, and thus 
to kindle a desire for its study and diffusion. It seems a strange 
anomaly that we should devote so many years to the study of 
other tongues and devote no time to our own, and this would 
excite surprise were the inconsistency not so common. But I think 
a new era is dawning, and our noble English speech is attracting 
the interest not only of those who speak it, but as a general and 
useful accomplishment. To aid in this movement is the design of 
the author, and he hopes that the day will soon come when the 
history of its rise, progress, and development will become a general 
branch of public instruction. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. . . I-2I 

I. The Origin of Language. 2. Our Mother Tongue. 
3. The Saxons. 4. Karly English. 5. The Aryans. 6. Indo- 
Kuropean Languages. 7. Saxon Immigration from Asia. 
8. Saxon Poems. 

CHAPTER II 22-38 

I. The Saxons in Britain. 2. The Anglo-Saxons. 3. Csed- 
mon, the Poet. 4. Alfred the Great. 5. The Goths and 
Danes. 6. Anglo-Saxon the Basis of English. 

CHAPTER III 39-69 

I. The Norman Conquest. 2. French and Anglo-Saxon. 
3. Semi-Saxon to 1250. 4. Brut of lyayamou. 5. The 
Ancren Riwle (Ancient Rule). 6. Anglo-Saxon Inflexion. 
7. Small Quantity of French in Semi-Saxon. 8. TheOrmu- 
lum. 9. Genesis and Exodus. 10. Owl and Nightingale. 

CHAPTER IV.— Early English.— 1250-1350 70-110 

I. Early English, 1250-1350. 2. Three Principal Dialects. 
3. Literature Begins with Poetry. 4. The Minstrels of this 
Period. 5. Robert of Gloucester. His Works Described. 
Changes Made by Him in Early F^nglish. 6. Robert Man- 
ning. His Works and Genius. He Stems the Tide of 
Norman-French Innovations. His Influence upon our 
Language. 7. Cursor Mundi and Genesis and Exodus. 
Paraphrasing Bible Stories into Early English. 8. The 
Ormulum. An Attempt to Settle Orthography. 9. The 
Ayenbite of Inwit. The Southern Dialect. 10. Mediaeval 
Saintship. Its Effect on Early English. Written in the 
Popular Speech. 11. Early English Alliterative Poems. 
12. The Hermit of Hampole. Sketch of His Life and 
Works. His Use of Saxon Terms in Preaching. 13. Moral 
and Religious Pieces, 14. The Arthur Romances. The 
Series of the Round Table Recounted. Their Influence 
on Modern Literature. 15. Hugh of the Royal Palace. 
He Drops the Saxon Inflexions. 16. Walter Mapes. 
17. Merlin, the Wizard. 18. Sir Thomas Malory. 19. Wil- 
liam of Parlerue. Grammatical Anomalies. 20. Havelok, 
the Dane Fluctuating Forms of Speech. 21. King Horn. 
Midland Forms. 22. Life of Alexander. The Commence- 
ment of Norman-French. 23. The Geste Historical. Drop- 
ping Inflexions. History of Troy, the Ancient Town. 
24. Roger Bacon. 25. Henry Bracton. 26. Duns Scotus. 
27. William Occam and the Schoolmen, The Words Con- 
tributed Still in Use 28. Changes and Improvements in 
the Transition from Semi-Saxon to Early English. 

CHAPTER v.— Middle English.— 1350-1550 111-125 

Historical Introduction to Middle English. 



vm. CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER VI.— MiDDi^B Kngwsh.— 1350-1550 126-152 

1. Sir John Mandeville. His Travels. The First Attempt 
in Prose in Middle :english. His Marvelous Stories. An 
E)xample of His Work and Extravagance. Great Num- 
ber of French and I^atin Words. Importance of Final e 
in Middle Fnglish. Uninflected Forms. His Broad and 
Generous Views. 2. The Scottish Dialect. Its Origin 
Framed by Scots, Saxons, Danes, Norvpegians, and Nor- 
mans. The Gaelic. Ossian. Introduction of French 
Idioms. FJarly Development of the Dialect. 3. John Bar- 
bour. His Bruce, the Earliest Epic in Our Language. 

4. John Wickliffe. His Translation of the Bible. His 
Religious View^s. Few of His Words Obsolete. 

CHAPTER Vn.— MiDDi^E Bngwsh— Continued.— 1350- 

1550 153-182 

I. Chaucer. 2. I^angland. 3. L,atin and Anglo-Saxon In- 
flexions. 

CHAPTER VIII.— MiDDi^E Engwsh— Continued.— 1350- 

1550 183-206 

I. James I. and the Scotch Poets of this Period. 2. Sir 
Thomas More. His Utopia, Letters, and Writings. 3. Sir 
John Fortescue, Author of the First Treatise on the Laws 
of England. 4. Henry VIII., Erasmus, Cranmer, and the 
Writers of the Reformation. 5. The Influence of the 
Reformation and Renaissance Upon the Language. 6. In- 
flected and Uninflected Forms Discussed. 7. Middle Eng- 
lish Analyzed and Described. 

CHAPTER IX.— Modern English.— 1550 to the Begin- 
ning of the XIX. Century 207-233 

I. Marlowe and the Dramatic Poets of the Renaissance. 
His Dr. Faustus, the Prototype of Goethe's, and his Rich- 
ard III., of Shakespeare's. The First Writer in Blank 
Verse. 2. Lamb's Criticisms. 3. Ben Jonson. His Extra- 
ordinary Skill. Friendship for Shakespeare. His Eng- 
lish Grammar. 4. Dramatic Writing. The Miracle Plays. 

5. Customs of the Age Affected its Language. 6. The 
New English Introduced by John Lyly. His " Euphues." 
The First Prose Novel in Our Language. Description of 
the Book. Its Effect upon the Language of other Authors. 
7. English Fiction, Thomas Nash. His Jack Wilton. Its 
Pure English Style. 8. Ballad Poetry. 9. English Takes 
its Present Form. Example Given. Some of the Changes. 
Correct Use of the Verb. William Lily's Grammar. Its 
Use Required by Order of the King. 10. The Derivations 
from Latin, and how the same were made. 

CHAPTER X.— Modern English— Continued. Shakes- 
peare 234-274 

I. His Education. 2. His Tragedies and Comedies. 3. His 
Sonnets. 4. His Language. 5. His Influence. 6. His Ver- 
sification. 7. His Present Position, 

CHAPTER XI.— Modern English— Continued 275-296 

I. Bacon. His Style in English. 2. Raleigh. Founder of 
English in the New World. 3. Richard Hooker. Latin 
and Saxon Words. 4. Edmund Spenser. Use of Obso- 
lete Words and Orthography. 5. Preachers of the 17th 
Century. 6. The Metaphysical Poets. 7. The Regular 
Growth of English. 



CONTENTS. IX. 

CHAPTER XII.— MODKRN Engi^ish— Contiuued to the 

Beginniugof the XIX. Century 297-316 

I. Milton's Use of the Saxon Element. 2. Compared with 
Homer. 3. Improved Appearance of English in Milton's 
Time. 4. His Proportion of Classical Terms. 5. Invoca- 
tion to his Mother Tongue. 6. Vigorous English of his 
Prose. 7. His Appeal for Free Speech. 8. The Power of 
English. 9 I,anguage of his Minor Poems, to. Of " Para- 
dise lyOst"; his Obsolete Words and Practice of Inver- 
sion. II. Subsequent Influence Upon Our Tongue. 12. His 
Use of Monosyllables and Familiar Words. 13. His Con- 
temporaries. 14. No Personal Animosities in the Grand 
Epic. 15. His Versification ; the Sound and Meaning of 
Words. 16. Theories of I^anguage. 17. Imitative Power 
of English. 18. Sound and Sense in Milton's Poetry. 

CHAPTER XIII.— Modern Engwsh— Continued to the 

Beginningof the XIX. Century 317-340 

I. Authors of the Restoration. 2. Butler, Author of "Hu- 
dibras." 3. Dryden— Poet, Critic, and Dramatist. 

CHAPTER XIV.— Modern EngIvISh— Continued .... 341-359 

I. Court Writers of the Restoration. 2. Richard Baxter. 
3. Izaak Walton. 4. John Bunyan. 5. John Ivocke. 
6. Jeremy Taylor. 7. Bishop Hall, and Other Divines of 
the 17th Century. These Writers Connected by Critical 
and Biographical Remarks. 

CHAPTER XV.— Modern Engi^ish- Continued and Com- 
pleted 360-384 

I. The Writers of the 18th Century. 2. Their Use of Eng- 
lish, with Comments and Criticisms Thereon. 

CHAPTER XVI 385-405 

I. Present Rank and Condition of English Among the lyiv- 
ing Ivanguages of the World. 2. Its Diffusion, and the 
Prospect of Its General Use, 



BIOGRAPHY OF THE ENGLISH 
LANGUAGE. 



CHAPTER I. 

1. The Origin of I^anguage. 5. The Aryans. 

2. Our Mother Tongue. 6. Indo-Buropean Languages. 

3. The Saxons. 7. Saxon Emigration from Asia. 

4. Early English. 8. Saxon Poems. 

The object of language is to express the thoughts of 
the mind, and as all thought is but the reflection of the 
soul we can easily understand that when language w^as 
first used the expressions were of a very simple and 
purely symbolic character, that is to say, that the sign 
of the thing intended to be expressed was a sound of 
some kind, and that this sound was adapted to the pur- 
pose of showing the meaning by a similarity to the 
thing itself. Thus when a sound of a falling tree was 
heard it would naturally excite a sense of the same 
kind of sound in the mind, and the word to express that 
idea would be a loud cry of wonder. The word would 
partake of this sensation and express the idea of sur- 
prise. But when the same thing occurred repeatedly 
there would be a great many sounds and a great many 
sensations; when the number of these sensations in- 



2 SOUND AND SENSE. 

creased to such extent as to puzzle the mind, it would 
gradually form a common symbol to express them all. 
Thus the sound of a falling tree would become a com- 
mon word to express a general idea, and the language 
would receive it into its vocabulary as a permanent 
denizen. 

Whether the word expresses the sound, is alto- 
gether a different matter. That many words express 
both sense and sound is undoubtedly the fact, but if the 
sound and the sense concur in the same word it would 
be very difl&cult to distinguish the origin of this phe- 
nomenon, for the reason that all sound has some sense, 
and there is no word that has not a sound ; therefore, 
when we speak of sound and sense concurring in the 
same word or words, we do not mean to say that all 
sound is sense, or that every word has a corresponding 
sound. All we desire to affirm is that sense and sound 
are not so closely related as to invariably accompany 
each other, and even in the origin of language it would 
be difficult to understand how they could occur together, 
since no two sounds are just alike, and no two words 
have precisely the same meaning. We are not inclined 
to adopt the extreme views of Max Miiller on this sub- 
ject, who seems to think that because the sound of a 
word conveys no idea whatever, yet the meaning 
thereof is to be wholly derived from its etymological 
antecedents. If this be so, then the origin of words can 
only be traced back to a very limited period, for the 
history of language is buried in centuries of darkness 
long before its record began. The only sure way to 
arrive at etymological certainty is to trace the history of 
a word or words to as remote a period as possible, and 



ORIGIN OF I.ANGUAGK AMONG CIVIIvIZKD RACKS. 3 

then there springs up before us another period of 
unknown duration, that stretches into the impene- 
trable recesses of a world without any remains of its lit- 
erature, and whose language has perished in the gloom 
of ages. 

When, therefore, we find a word that has no derivation 
in the ancient tongues and none in those that have been 
preserved, we can only guess at its etymology, and pass 
it over to that immense class that are like many fami- 
lies who have no pedigree and no escutcheon to their 
name, but have yet achieved an acknowledged place in 
society, and are everywhere received for their own 
merit and respectability. 

We now come to the origin of language among the 
civilized races of mankind ; and here we find a record 
more or less distinct, more or less reliable, but still not 
of such distinctness as would authorize us to pronounce 
oracularly upon the forms of spoken speech among the 
common people, for there are always vulgar dialects 
cotitemporaneous with the language of polished society. 
We are, therefore, still left to conjecture as to the origin 
of words, whether they commenced with the common 
people, or with those who were cultivated. When the 
language of a people becomes refined, the uneducated 
masses are not in a condition to adopt the improvements 
of those who are more cultivated. The original forms 
of the idiom are not allowed to blemish the urbane dia- 
lect of the learned. The modest speech that was for- 
merly alone spoken falls into neglect, and literature 
admits only such ancient forms as respond to some 
necessity of speech. These parvenu words will by and 
by be admitted to keep company with the best, and will 



IX 



4 I^TYMOIvOGY OF WORDS. 

be presented with passports to the standard lexicon of 
the language. 

The etymology of words is so connected with con- 
siderations of this kind that it would be difficult, if not 
impossible, to determine the exact meaning of words 
according to the theory of Mr. Miiller. But when we 
come to the more modern languages we have less trouble 
to understand them. The English language, for 
instance, is of modern growth, and can be traced back 
to its Anglo-Saxon cradle with comparative ease. 
When the first book was written is a matter of his- 
torical certainty. When the first poem was composed, 
and the first proclamation promulgated, are all matters 
of such indisputable certainty that we refer to them as 
facts established by their own existence and by the evi- 
dence of contemporary writers. But when we come to 
trace the words that entered into the texture of the 
language, we find ourselves lost in the depths of North- 
em tongues that have long ceased to be spoken in those 
very regions. We are not a people of one language, 
but of many. The different ingredients of our tongue 
come from all parts of the globe, and assemble in our 
vocabular>^ as in a favored land that invites and receives 
all who come, bringing with them the credentials of 
their usefulness or beauty. We naturalize them upon 
their proof of good character and loyalty to their new 
home, and when they become fully endorsed by the peo- 
ple, or by our scholars, they take a place in our litera- 
ture and are seated at our table, with all the rights and 
privileges of true-born citizens. We are not afraid of 
debasing our mother tongue by this admixture, for if 
they are found unfitted for our use or alien to our idiom, 



SAXON 'THE^ BASIS OF KNGtlSH. 5 

we soon drop them into oblivion, and they disappear 
like the unwelcome stranger who finds he is out of place 
and retires without the formality of leave-taking. 

We come next to consider the origin of our language 
as a distinct form of speech. In the first place we notice 
the growth of its vocabulary. Here we find many words 
of Scandinavian origin, while those from the Germanic 
tribes are still more numerous. The Saxon predomi- 
nates them all, and is the true basis of the English to 
this day. We find Saxon words in all the forms of our 
literature, in our books and periodicals, in our maga- 
zines and histories, in our poems and novels, in our 
books of theology and metaphysics, in our laws and in 
our sermons. The great body of speech in ordinary 
conversation is Saxon, as is also the speech of the 
masses. We speak in Saxon, we write in Saxon, we 
pray in Saxon, and we love in its tender and emotional 
dialect. Our deeds, our covenants, and our agreements, 
our public records, our parliamentary and congressional 
debates, our instructions to the servant in the house- 
hold, and our appeals to those in the highest places of 
honor or trust are in the language of the old Saxon 
tribes, that a thousand years ago, on the flat and 
swampy lands of the Scheldt and the sea, on the mud 
and mire of the low lands, and upon the indented bays 
of the coast, lived and struggled with the elements and 
bore their forages and ravages to all the neighboring 
shores. 

We do not speak it as they spoke it. The knowledge 
of the sounds given to words is lost, but we may be sure 
that those fierce barbarians uttered them amidst the 
storm that beat upon their homes or tossed their frail 



O THK ANCIKNT SAXONS. 

barks at sea, with an energy and force far excelling 
the loudest and strongest voice of our modern eloquence. 
They spoke to nature in its wildest moods. They spoke 
to men of iron temper and hardy endurance, to weather- 
beaten and fearless companions, to the winds and the 
waves, where nothing weak could live, or speak, or act. 
Accustomed from their earliest infancy to feats of strength 
and agility, to long voyages by river and on the sea, 
they acquired habits of endurance and self-control that 
never forsook them. They spoke to each other when 
the storm was loudest, when the heavens were blackest, 
and when all nature was hostile to their going forward, 
yet they feared nothing, and heard the roar of the tem- 
pest only to bid it defiance. All their energies were 
directed to the struggle for existence. The land was 
barren, the streams were lifeless ; the sea was the only 
element that promised them the means of living, and 
their tiny barks were fearlessly launched upon the 
waves and given to the winds. There was scarcely any 
other mode of existence. The sea was their friend, their 
home. It furnished them with food ; it carried them on 
their far off voyages for pillage, and bore them back 
when ladened with the spoils of war. Their mythology 
was of a character to suit their temper. The wolf was 
the symbol of the wind. The moon was the great lamp 
hung up in the sky that they might see their way in the 
darkness, and the sun was the luminary that rose in 
the east, pointing them to the land of their ancestry, 
and they worshiped it as the father of all things ; and 
when the weather was calm, and the winds and waves 
were still, they repaired to their tents and returned 
thanks for the blessed light, and the glorious firmament 



the;ir mythoIvOGy and character. / 

through whicli the god of day drove his golden chariot. 
They worshiped the god of thunder, for he spoke to them 
in the loudest peals of his wrath ; and were always ready 
to bow the knee to Odin, who rode through the air on 
his milk-white steed, with clang of hoof and horn, accom- 
panied by a body of disembodied spirits. 

They had many religious rites, such as the burning 
of the yule-log, a ceremony still observed on the night 
of the Holy Nativity. They sacrificed a. certain num- 
ber of their prisoners to appease the god of war, and 
drank their blood in the skulls of their victims. The 
orgies in the Valhalla were the recompense of the brave 
who fell in battle, and it was lighted with the bright- 
ness of glittering swords and shining shields. 

The men were brave, and the women were held in 
high esteem, and were often permitted to share the 
dangers of their husbands. The dreams of the Scalds 
and the songs of the Kddas were related by the fireside 
or during the long watches of the night at sea. There 
were no exaggerations of the poets and no exploits of 
their fabled heroes and demi-gods that they did not 
receive into their faith. 

Such a people would naturally acquire strong modes 
of expression, words of deep meaning suitable for their 
wild existence. They would be expressive in the brief- 
est manner of the feelings and the passions. Not only 
were they fierce and fearless, but many softer qualities 
mingled in their nature. Domestic life was sacred, and 
its violator punished with death. The women were 
devoted to their husbands and families, and in the 
absence of the former they cultivated the fields, fed the 
cattle, and held sway over the household with the same 



8 OUR MOTH:eR TONGUES. 

parental authority as he would have done if present. 
We speak of our mother tongue as something sacred. 
It is the language in which we first spoke in childhood. 
Its accents fell upon our ears when a mother caressed 
us in infancy, and it was the pride of our earliest e:fforts 
to utter its sounds. It spoke to us of home, of kindred, 
of the loved ones who cheered our youthful hours with 
stories and songs of love. At the cradle its lullabies 
hushed us into repose and awoke us with gentle words 
and soothing accents, and its tender expressions fell 
upon the heart like the morning beams upon the land- 
scape. All our earlier thoughts were spoken, all our 
earlier trials were related in the tongue our mother used 
when she held us to her breast. There is no event 
more vivid in our memory than our first lisping, than 
our first cries of delight in its tones of infant joy. Nor 
do we forget the pleasure of the moments when we first 
understood how to express our meaning by its words. 
We are not yet fully conscious of its intrinsic worth, for 
it is of all spoken tongues the one best adapted for the 
general use of mankind, by the simplicity of its gram- 
mar and the great variety of its terms. We are often 
struck by the softness of its words. The sweet and 
sacred ones of love, hope, smile, joy, and laughter, and 
all the tender phrases of kindred and home are familiar 
to us from childhood, and yet never lose their power 
over our affections nor become hackneyed and worn out 
by use. Its beauty is also seen in the great number of 
its words of endearment, such as dear, lovely, charm- 
ing, adorable, caress, fond, affectionate, and hundreds 
of others that speak to our hearts and waken emotions 
that never cease to delight us, and that never pall upon 



KARI,Y e:NGI.ISH. 9 

the heart, however constant their use. We do not 
recall a word so precious as that of home. How simple, 
and 3^et it implies all the domestic ties of life, and points 
to the one spot on earth where our affections are always 
true and where love gains its hopes and reaps its 
golden dreams. When we ask for any friendly expres- 
sion, how wonderfully it furnishes the choicest selection 
of amicable terms. Our friend is our playmate, our 
schoolfellow, our neighbor, our associate, our chum-, 
our co7npanion, and we owe him brotherly love, kind- 
ness, charity, assistance, and devotion. All the sweet 
terms of household love, all the grand ones of the soul's 
greatest passion, are simple, and nearly all of Saxon 
origin. The man who can reason without using the 
Saxon derivatives, and the poet who can sing without 
them in his verse are unknown, and while the I^atin 
and French are both useful and ornamental, yet the 
great mass of ordinary conversation, oratory, poetry, 
and literature are in its crisp and syllabic remains. 

In the first place, the great want is a knowledge of 
early English. The reason that so little is known on 
this interesting subject, is the need of well prepared 
reprints, with proper explanatory notes and glossaries. 
This work has been undertaken by various societies in 
Great Britain, especially by the Early English Text 
Society, and many volumes have been published with 
learned notes and glossaries. But the circulation is 
limited, and the works are not generally accessible to 
the public. They are for sale like other books by the 
publisher, but for some reason they do not get into the 
hands of the people. The original forms and dialects 
are not easily understood and have to be studied like 



lO THK SAME^ CONTINUED. 

books in a foreign or dead language, and it really can- 
not be expected that the mass of readers will take the 
pains necessary to know them. These considerations 
will continue to operate in the future, but we hope not 
to the same extent as at present. A simpler mode of 
presenting the classics of early English to attention is a 
matter of sincere desire, and would be a great help to 
those who wish to understand them, but have not 
the time nor the means necessary for such a pursuit. 
We have endeavored to supply this want to such extent 
as is consistent with the general plan of our undertak- 
ing j^ by calling attention to early authors and giving a 
few specimens from their works, and such brief bio- 
graphical sketches as will enlighten the mind in regard 
to these pioneers in our language and literature. 

When we consider the object of all language, we can 
better understand the bearing of any particular one. 
If, for instance, we understood the dialect spoken by 
the Esquimaux, we could understand the one spoken by 
the inhabitants of Greenland, and if we could under- 
stand the language of the Russian people, we could 
understand the one spoken by the Poles and the Lap- 
landers, for the reason that all these tongues are derived 
from the original Tartar or Ivan form of speech, that 
prevailed in Northern Asia thousands of years before 
the Christian era. 

It is a received opinion among philologists that 
owing to its isolated position on the southeastern shores 
of the Baltic, where it was least exposed to the inroads 
of war or immigration, Lithuania has preserved the orig- 
inal terms of the Arj^an languages with greater purity 
than any other portion of Europe, and it is said to agree 



THE ARYANS. IT 

in many verbal and grammatical forms with the San- 
skrit more than any other dialect. Perhaps it is the 
best exponent we have of the original Aryan. It has 
happened elsewhere that a people isolated by themselves 
can preserve the forms of speech much better than 
others, and in that case it can be referred to for the pur- 
pose of identifying the stock from which they descended. 
Where the same language is spoken by different nations 
there is a strong presumption of a common origin. 
These affinities in the languages of Europe have been 
carefully studied until it has been established beyond 
any reasonable doubt that they have all been derived 
from the same lineage. Now, according to the theory 
of the German philologers, broached about fifty or sixty 
years ago, a race of people are assumed to have occu- 
pied the central portions of Asia ; to have gradually 
wandered from their native seats to the western portions 
of that continent, and finally to have crossed the 
Euphrates into the eastern region of Europe, and then 
dispersing in every direction left traces of their speech 
wherever they went. They are generally known by the 
conventional name of Aryans, and the designation Indo- 
European has been applied to all the tongues and dia- 
lects they poured out upon the people they visited or 
subdued. 

The etymologists have investigated with profound 
learning the similarities that associate our modern dia- 
lects with each other, and have examined not only the 
grammatical forms but the habits and domestic life of 
these ancient races, and determined the kind and extent 
of their civilization and government. This extraordi- 
nary result has been wrought out by comparing the 



12 INDO-KUROPEAN I^ANGUAGEJS. 

words in one language with those in another and 
showing a similarity in their form and meaning. Thus, 
for instance, the word, father^ is nearly the same in all 
the Aryan dialects, the variations being only such as 
might be expected in passing from one people to 
another. So all the words relating to family, such as 
brother, sister, husband, mother, daughter, etc., bear a 
close resemblance to each other in the Germanic forms, 
as well as in those of Latin origin, to say nothing of the 
Sanskrit, the Persian and the Zend, showing that there 
must have been a common origin of words in different 
languages that are the same, or nearly the same, in 
form and meaning in them all. Several lists of these 
words have been prepared, the last being that of Max 
Miiller, containing several hundred, which all the 
Aryan languages have in common, and which he 
divides into fifteen classes according to their subjects. 

Thus by a species of inductive reasoning, the fact 
has been established that such a great similarity of 
innumerable words could only have descended from the 
same original, and exhibits the sweeping and over- 
whelming destinies that roll out of the ceaseless flow of 
human speech. 

We must now give some account of the Anglo-Saxon, 
from which our own tongue is derived, and which, like 
the other Indo-European languages, has a large infusion 
of Aryan words in its vocabulary. Who gave an Aryan 
dialect to the Saxon and the Scandinavian, is becoming 
a hotly contested question ; but whatever may be 
thought of that subject, it is satisfactorily established 
that a people speaking the Aryan language gave Gothic 
to the North and Sanskrit to the East, thus bringing into 



WKRE THE ARYANS AN ASIATIC PKOPI.K ? 1 3 

relationship at some remote period the blue-e5^ed. Saxon 
and the dark-skinned Hindoo, either by the affinities of 
blood or language. The correctness of the theory that 
they came from Asia has been severely called in ques- 
tion and ably examined by those well qualified for the 
office. Mr. Crawfurt first, and Canon Taylor at a later 
period, hold that the Aryans were an European people ; 
while Prof. Huxley, who has examined the question 
with his usual skill and learning, thinks they came 
from the confines of the two continents, and perhaps as 
far east as the Caspian Sea, and from the banks of the 
neighboring rivers. 

It may, however, be very safely asserted that the 
great current of belief among scholars, and sustained by 
the most prominent names in philology, has been that 
the stream of Aryan speech came along with those 
sweeping eruptions from the East, that carried not only 
language into Europe but many things besides. That, 
indeed, Asia was not only the cradle of the Aryans, but 
the great storehouse from which Europe received its 
arts, its religion, and its Christianity. The tide has 
generally been from the same quarter. But I do not 
enter upon this disputed question. Perhaps there is 
not yet sufficient material upon which to justify a final 
conclusion. The facts and considerations collected by 
Max Miiller in his **Home of the Aryans," offer the 
strongest argument that has yet appeared for the 
hypothesis that somewhere in Asia was the place of 
their habitat, and the starting point of their separation. 
Whatever we may think of his facts or his reasoning, 
they establish beyond all doubt an Aryan speech and 
an Aryan people ; but that they ever visited the North 



14 SAMK SUBJECT CONTINUKD. 

is a supposition sustained only by the Aryan type of its 
language. It is not an historical probability that an 
Asiatic people would settle upon the low, flat lands and 
muddy plains of a country, such as Holland and Jut- 
land must have been in those prehistoric times. The 
country to which they would have come bore no resem- 
blance to the Caucasian scenery which they are sup- 
posed to have abandoned. Its climate was cold and 
humid, the aspects of nature had no points of grandeur, 
no sweet valleys, no gentle slopes, no rugged peaks, no 
overhanging crags, no rushing torrents, no sparkling 
brooks, no lofty mountains, and no motionless streams. 
There, all nature was seen in beautiful variety, or in 
solemn and peerless sublimity. But in their new homes 
all this was reversed. The land was fiat, low, and 
marshy. The streams stagnated in their beds, the 
clouds hung over the land and the sea like a leaden 
sheet loaded with moisture and heavy with rain. The 
whole aspect of nature was changed. The frowning 
crag just ready to topple over, the grandeur of the 
mountain, and the beauty of the valley, the rushing 
torrent, and the sweet music of the streamlet were no 
longer among the objects familiar to their senses, and 
the humble flight of the sea bird was but a feeble image 
of the towering grandeur of the eagle. Indeed, the 
circumstances that would have attended such a migra- 
tion of a whole people, are so extraordinary and inex- 
plicable as to throw discredit upon the theory it is sup- 
posed to sustain. 

We are at a loss to understand how the inhabitants 
in that region lived except by plunder or warfare, and 
such indeed was their mode of existence. We can 



THE WII.DNKSS OF SAXON LIFK. 1 5 

scarcely conceive of anything more wild and rugged 
than their kind of life. The sea was their principal 
element. On the crest of a wave or on the top of a 
great mound of seaweed or shells, they were equally at 
home. The stars were their guide, and the sun the 
only object of terror that struck them with dismay, 
when, descending in the evening, it burnished the sky 
with spots of molten fire, and spread a vast sheet of 
flame upon the water. They thought that Woden was 
enraged and displayed his wrath in the burning 
heavens. And yet when the morning arose in the east, 
they went into their tents or upon the decks of their 
vessels and worshiped the sun as the brightest thing in 
the universe, and invoked the god of light to show them 
the unseen mysteries of his power. They worshiped 
at the shrine of Thor, the god of war, that he might 
give them victory and endow them with the means of 
conquering their enemies and feasting upon their cat- 
tle. The most stormy weather found them upon the 
ocean, and the wildest commotion of the waves filled 
their souls with defiance and scorn. The angry waters 
had no terrors, and the loudest hurricanes no trepida- 
tion for them. The gloom of night and the sombre look 
of the sky were great and awe inspiring objects of fear, 
and they shook and trembled at the voice of thunder as 
the mutterings of the gods and the angry sound of their 
voices. They were struck with wonder at the appear- 
ance of a comet, and thought it the form of a new world 
thrown upon the sky, to wander there till the gods were 
ready to supply it with a place of permanent repose like 
the other stars in the firmament. There was no room 
in their heaven for any but those who had died in battle 



i6 



BE^OWUIvF. 



or were distinguished for valor. The glory of arms and 
the excitement of strife were the great inducements of 
life, and the songs of the Scalds and the poems of the 
Kddas were the natural outgrowth of this warlike spirit. 
The Brunanburgh war song, the Snorro metres, and the 
exploits of Beowulf, the Dane, are all of this character, 
and serve to illustrate the warlike habits of these chil- 
dren of the Arctic. 

In the poem of Beowulf there is a description of a 
fight between the hero of the piece and a being of mys- 
terious birth, belonging to the ancient Jutes, a race of 
unnatural monsters who lived on the blood of their vic- 
tims. One of these fiendish creatures had a den near 
the Court of the good King Hrothgar, of Denmark. 
This creature was in the habit of visiting the hall in 
the palace where the King's warriors feasted upon the 
meals of the royal table and drank from the mead cup, 
till, overpowered, they lay down upon the couches for 
repose. When all were wrapped in slumber, the vin- 
dictive murderer would break in upon the sleepers, and, 
seizing them, with his immense strength crushing their 
bones like the dry stalks in the harvest, carry their 
bodies away to his den to feast upon their blood. The 
King saw his best and most valiant soldiers taken from 
him, one after the other, and he was broken down with 
grief, for none of his chiefs could stand before the Gren- 
del. Beowulf, a noble Goth, who was related to the 
house of the ancient Hrothgar, hearing these tidings, 
repaired to the Danish court and offered, single handed 
and alone, to meet the Grendel and put him to death. 
He accordingly sleeps in the "mead hall," and the 
Grendel, coming as usual for his prey, spies the youth- 



THK GOTH AND THK GRKNDKlv. 1 7 

ful Goth Upon his couch and is about to seize him, 
when suddenly the latter rises up and confronts the 
monster. The keen weapon of the Goth finds a vul- 
nerable spot in the shoulder of the Grendel, and 
working it there, he inflicts a fatal wound. The mon- 
ster retires to his den to die, and Beowulf wrenches 
an arm and a hand from his body as a trophy of his 
victory. 

Of course there is great rejoicing, and an immoderate 
deal of feasting and speech making over the result, not 
forgetting the mead cup. 

But the war is soon renewed by the mother of the 
Grendel, who is of the same wicked progeny. To 
revenge the death she visits the feasting hall, but not 
being so powerful as her son, the warriors prove more 
than a match for her, though she succeeds in carrying 
off one of their number. She dwells in a cave that is 
washed by the waves of the sea, with other unearthly 
creatures like herself. Hither Beowulf repairs, armed 
for another combat, in which he is also victorious, but 
receives a fatal wound, and is carried to the King's pal- 
ace, where he dies. 

In the story of '*The Traveller," we are told of a 
race of beings in one of the countries he visited, where 
the inhabitants wore two mantles, one before and the 
other behind, so that they might appear to an enemy to 
be two persons, and so doubly formidable. 

The Snorro metres is a collection of the heroic and 
religious tales and traditions of the olden time that pre- 
vailed among the Northern races, and serve to give us 
an idea of the old Saxon forms and mythological dreams. 
But the most celebrated of them all is probably the story 



i8 



THK PRIMITIVE FORMS OF OI^D SAXON. 



of the dragon and the mighty King of the Goths, who 
slew it by a single blow from his arm. 

Feats of superhuman strength displayed in the 
delivery of kingdoms from the ravages of wicked drag- 
ons and other vindictive creatures, that destroy whole 
districts and devour women and children for food, are 
among the exploits of these mighty warriors ; and show 
us that the authors of Scaldic literature sang their fabu- 
lous tales to foster the wild spirit of adventure in their 
people, and to animate them to acts of stupendous endur- 
ance and fortitude. 

The Goths and other neighboring tribes were ruled 
and led by their Kings ; but the Saxons had no Kings. 
Their leaders were elected, and had only such powers 
conferred upon them as their followers designated. 
Neither Hengist nor Blla had been Kings in Germany. 
All laws were enacted in their Witenagemots, as their 
Parliaments were called, and all the Saxon laws extant 
were enacted in similar assemblies after their settlement 
in Britain. 

No doubt exists as to the antiquity of the primitive 
forms of old Saxon, as its sources are so remote as to 
defy speculation. It must have arisen out of the fusion 
of the Saxon and other Gothic and, perhaps, Celtic 
tribes among themselves upon the shores of the Baltic 
and the North Sea, and it is not a matter of surprise 
that, as they were continually at war, and mixing up 
with each other, their language should undergo con- 
stant change, so that what were its forms till it prepon- 
derated in the Island of Britain, it is now almost impossi- 
ble to ascertain. But we are informed that in all the 
forms of Anglo-Saxon are to be found traces of the vari- 



SAXON CUSTOMS AND BELIKFS. 1 9 

ous dialects which combined to produce it. The Celtic 
and the lyatin, the tongues spoken by the Goth, the 
Dane, the Scandinavian, with many a tribe besides from 
Lower Germany, who joined the Saxon fleets in their 
quest of the British Island, assert themselves in the 
Anglo-Saxon, and undoubtedly these different nations 
could recognize many of its words, without being able 
to trace the derivation of its other ingredients. 

Many of our customs are of Saxon origin. The 
days of the week are named after their deities, and the 
objects of their adoration are preserved in the calendar 
of the church. Easter Sunday and Easter holidays 
come from Eastra, the goddess of the household, who 
presided over marriage and was the patron of the do- 
mestic virtues. It was she who aided women in child- 
birth, and sat with the family in the hours of leisure 
and enjoyment. All the forms of ancient mythology 
are indeed but the expression of something connected 
with human life. One of their songs, for instance, 
relates that the traveller came to a people who wor- 
shiped the rising moon, for the reason that it lighted 
their way when they went on their midnight forays; 
and he mentions another race who worshiped the north 
star because it pointed them out the course to steer 
their vessels when there was no other means to guide 
them. So in the history of Beowulf, the hero of the 
piece rejoices that the firmament above his head is so 
full of stars that shine out in the darkness, and give 
him an opportunity of attacking his enemies when least 
expected. In the Eddas of Snorro, the poet exults in 
the thought that when the world is drowned in sleep, he 
can sing the glory of the past by the light of the shining 



20 , NATURAI, OBJECTS DEIFIKD. 

Stars above and by the clear rays of the moon . So through 
all the old Saxon poetry we find that natural objects are 
deified because of some useful benefit they confer upon 
man. In the great poem of the first writer in early 
English, lyayamon, we find many examples of this kind. 
He speaks of the sun, the moon, and the stars as bright 
luminaries shining for the good and use of man, and 
keeping him in a world of light and beauty, for else the 
night would swallow up all things and darkness would 
cover the land and the sea with a pall as black as Ere- 
bus. So in the later production by Langland called 
"Piers, the Plowman," we have many such examples. 
The author supposes himself to have fallen asleep, and 
while in that condition to have had a vision, in which 
the whole of the poem is made to consist ; but he relates 
many things that occurred in daily life, as, for instance, 
how the monks of that day lived in idleness and ease, 
and led a dissolute life of pleasure and ignorance. 
This was not necessary to his purpose, but he intro- 
duces it apparently as the means of stating that when 
the people went to church they looked at the priest as 
the man most fitted to instruct them in holy things, but 
found on the contrary that all the value of religion con- 
sisted in giving alms and saying their prayers. But 
this was not a place for either, and they must go to 
their homes and ask God to forgive their sins, and if 
they could not do this, then they must look up to the 
heavens for light and knowledge. The many forms of 
mythology that crept into early English are also visible 
in the frequent allusions made by still another and 
greater poet than them all, our own peerless Chaucer, who 
in recounting the story of ' ' The Knight, ' ' makes men- 



NATURAL OBJECTS DKII^IKD. 21 

tion of a custom among the people of some country he 
had visited, of looking upon the apple tree with venera- 
tion bordering upon idolatry because it furnished them 
with the means of making cider, and consequently of a 
drink that produced intoxication. Indeed, we find in 
all the early forms of our literature references of this 
kind, and many of them still flourish in modern produc- 
tions. 



CHAPTER IJ, 



1. The Saxons in Britain. 4. Alfred the Great. 

2. The Anglo-Saxons. 5. The Goths and Danes. 

3. Caedmon, the Poet. 6. Anglo-Saxon the Basis of 

English. 



Thk most interesting period in the early history of 
England is its settlement by the Saxons, Jutes, and 
Angles . It commenced about the year 449 , and continued 
under various leaders for more than a century. Their first 
appearance was a welcome one. The Celtic inhabitants 
had been harrassed and driven to despair by the incur- 
sions of the Picts and Scots, who occupied the northern 
part of the island. They found the Celts enfeebled by 
Roman civilization and luxury. A nation that had been 
so long subject to Roman sway could scarcely be expected 
to maintain themselves against these repeated attacks 
from the Northern hordes, whose only object was plunder, 
and who, when they had obtained all the booty they 
could carry away, retired to their native fastnesses, where 
pursuit was impossible ; and there they would remain 
till quiet was restored, when sudden as the swoop of a 
whirlwind from Ben-Lomond, they would again pour 
down upon the disorganized communities with greater 
slaughter and havoc than before. The Celts sent first 
to Rome for assistance, and twice legions were forwarded 
who drove the barbarians within the Grampian Range. 
But these were finally withdrawn, never to return, for 



THK SAXONS ARK INVITKD. 23 

they were needed to protect tlie city of Romulus from 
the mighty Hun, Attila, who was ready to enter its 
gates. 

The inroads from the North were renewed, and the 
Celts, unable to protect themselves, called in the Saxon 
fleets that were then hovering upon the coast on 
a predatory excursion of their own. The Saxons 
responded to this invitation with alacrity, and landed 
at the island of Thanet, on the coast of Kent, and 
then proceeded at once to a spot which is memorable 
in English history, called the town of Canterbury, where 
they erected the standard of Hengist and Horsa, losing 
no time in notifying the Celtic chiefs of their arrival. 
The Saxons soon drove the marauders across the bor- 
ders; and then, seeing the country they had come to 
defend had a fertile soil, a soft, mild climate, and was, 
altogether, a pleasant and desirable land to possess, they 
turned their arms against their allies, to vanquish their 
friends as they had their foes. 

When the intelligence reached the people of the low 
Oerman lands that the rich kingdom of Britain was 
invaded by their neighbors, they swarmed across the 
narrow sea in great numbers, and every battle was fol- 
lowed by throngs of new comers. After a terrible and 
bloody contest, that continued for over a century, the 
Celtic people grew weaker and weaker, and were finally 
driven into the remote parts of the island, where their 
descendants are still to be found. Britain changed its 
nationality and became Saxon instead of Celtic. 

This is perhaps one of the most stupendous convul- 
sions that ever overtook a civilized people. The Celts 
had flourished for four centuries as a Roman province, 



24 THK ORIGIN OF ANGIvO-SAXON. 

and were Christianized and cultivated. Their scholars 
and poets were received at Rome, and many of their lit- 
erary remains have reached this day. That this people 
should have been nearly effaced out of existence and 
expelled from their homes by a band of barbarian cor- 
sairs, is one of those strange events that history men- 
tions with profound sorrow, but still rejoices that a new 
nation has sprung up to take their place for the benefit 
of mankind at large. Similar changes were witnessed 
on the continent, where the Goths, a kindred race with 
the Saxons, had pillaged all the civilized communities, 
destroying their arts and learning, but in their places 
founded kingdoms that have filled the world with their 
historic fame and grandeur. So these poor Saxon free- 
booters, after committing every atrocity upon the native 
inhabitants of the island, created a nationality that has 
surpassed them all in the greatness of its influence and 
the wide extended empire of its language. 

The Northern tribes that joined the Saxons were of 
the same general stock, and passed under the same gen- 
eral name, and all spoke the same language, but each 
tribe had, undoubtedly, its own peculiar forms and 
idioms, and when they were brought together in the 
J conquest of the British Island there arose a strange inter- 
mixture of oral communication. It was a compound of 
all the idioms spoken by the warlike invaders, and thus 
gave birth to one that acquired the name of Anglo-Saxon. 
This new form of speech has great interest for the Eng- 
lish philologist, since it has exercised the most import- 
ant influence upon the language we now use. Here we 
find the first rudiments of English, the first words of its 
vocabulary, and the greatest resource of its strength and 



THK ANGI.O-SAXON EI.KMENT. 25 

lucidity. There is no doubt about the origin of English. 
It was cradled in Anglo-Saxon and reared by those who 
were familiar with no other dialect. 

It is not my intention to consider any language but 
our own, yet I cannot help observing the great difference 
between its source and that of the tongues of contem- 
porary nations. The latter, as a general rule, were sup- 
plied by the blending of the Latin and the rustic speech 
of the unlettered people. The Teutonic nations, on the 
contrar}^ derived their dialects from the Germanic races, 
which were spoken by all alike. The same words were 
heard in the palace and the hut, and all had a common 
love for their native tongue as the link which bound all 
classes together. The high born and the low spoke the 
same words, uttered the same sounds, understood each 
other, and no one was heard who did not speak the same 
dialect. This remarkable circumstance has not escaped 
observation, for it has often been remarked that the 
languages of the low German countries are more nearly 
alike today than those in other parts of Europe. This 
may explain the difference between the Latin-based 
languages and those of Teutonic origin. In the latter 
we find many of the words precisely the same in them 
all, and are still used by all classes of the people ; but in 
the former the rustic speech is quite different from that 
which prevails in polite society. We have here a reason 
why the Anglo-Saxon element in English is still spoken 
by the whole of the people. Indeed, its forms seem 
incapable of corruption, from the fact that they are 
generally so simple that they can neither be improved 
by change, nor degraded by any variation of their mean- 
ing. There is a charm in such words as love, hope, tear^ 



2,6 I.ITTI.B PROGRE^SS TII.I. C^DMON. 

smile, joy, laughter, and home, together with all the tender 
phrases of kindred and domestic life. The sensible 
objects of nature and the practical things in human 
affairs are Anglo-Saxon. It furnishes the poet and the 
orator with terms of heavenly fire or passionate appeal. 

Several generations, however, passed away before we 
can trace the progress of Saxon letters or literature. It 
was a period of constant war among the different king- 
doms of the Heptarchy, until Egbert, the father of Alfred 
the Great, subdued them all and became sole monarch 
of the whole country. Meanwhile the Anglo-Saxon had 
made great progress in its structure and grammar. Its 
verbs were regularly conjugated ; its nouns, adjectives, 
adverbs, and articles were all declined with an extraordi- 
nary degree of perplexity. There were four declensions 
for nouns, adjectives, and adverbs, and even the article 
was declined with the strangest vagaries of inflexion. 

The historians Gildas (516-570) and Bede (673- 
735) employed I^atin, which was at that period the 
only language for circulation among the learned of all 
nations, and other writers followed their example. It 
was only in the mists and gloom of the 7th century 
(680) that a wonderful poet arose to sing his numbers 
in the rugged speech of his mother tongue. Bede's 
description of how Csedmon began to sing was trans- 
lated by Alfred himself into Saxon. I find a literal 
interlineary English version in Note 11 to Thomas 
Percy's '' Essay on the Ancient Minstrels" : 

" He (Csedmon) never no ceasings nor idle songs compose he 
might, but lo ! only those things which to (piety) religion belong, 
and his then pious tongue became to sing. He was a man in 
worldly state set to the time in which he was of an advanced age, 



C^DMON. 27 

and he never sang any song learned. And he therefore, oft in an 
entertainment when there was for merriment's sake, adjudged that 
they all should through their turns by harp sing, when he saw the 
harp him approach then arose he for shame from the supper and 
home went to his house. " 

When Csedmon's genius was first developed he had 
probably attained the period of middle life, and occu- 
pied the humble position of herdsman at Whitby 
Abbey, a structure that reared its massive walls upon 
the rocky coast of Northumbria, and withstood the 
drenching tides of the German Ocean. An extraordi- 
nary woman, of royal lineage and great erudition, named 
Hilda, held the position of Abbess, and she had made 
the place famous by her good deeds, having also raised 
it to eminence as a seat of learning and scholarship. 
One evening Caedmon was feasting with his companions 
and the song and cup went round, but he knew so little 
of music or poetry that when his turn came he left the 
board and* retired to the stable where he had charge of 
the cattle that night. Tradition tells the story, that, 
overcome with vexation at his ignorance, he lay down 
sleeping on his straw pillow, when he was warned by a 
heavenly vision to sing. ''I cannot sing," replied 
Caedmon, "for this cause have I left the feast." The 
vision answered him, "However that may be, you shall 
sing to me." "What shall I sing?" inquired the 
sleeper. "The beginning of created things," replied 
the same voice as before. Then the sacred fire kindled 
in his soul, and he began to sing what had never been 
written by any one, in words that will probably never 
pass away. The venerable Bede records these particu- 
lars, and has carefully transmitted the inspired lines of 



28 c^dmon's hymn. 

Caedmon's midnight hymn, substantially in the follow- 
ing language, which I take from Mill's translation : 

Now we shall praise 

the guardian of heaven, 

the might of the creator, 

and his council, 

the glory, father of men 

how he of all wonders, 

the eternal lord, 

framed the beginning. 

He first created 

for the children of men 

heaven as a roof, 

the holy creator 

then the world 

the guardian of mankind, 

the eternal lord, 

produced afterward, 

the earth for men, 

the Almighty master. 

When he awoke his heart trembled with a new 
mystery. He ran to the Abbey, where he found Hilda, 
together with some of the learned men from the adjacent 
monastery; he told his story and repeated his dream. 
The lines returned to him without an effort, and when 
he concluded reciting the verses they were awed into 
silence and wonder. At last their excitement burst 
forth in exclamations that he had received the gift of 
song from heaven. But they did not know all. Some 
scriptural stories were read and explained to him in his 
own Anglo-Saxon, which he was required to turn into 
verses. He could read nothing, he could write nothing. 
The poem was formed in his mind, he knew not how. 



HIS OIvD TKSTAMENT PARAPHRASK. 2g 

On the following morning he stood again in the 
Abbey-Hall, with verses far superior in beauty and 
majesty to anything they had ever heard, upon the 
Bible passages they had read in his hearing. From 
that forth he continued to produce poems concerning 
the fall of man, and the war of the angels in heaven. 
At least a paraphrase of several portions of the Old 
Testament, still preserved in a manuscript in the British 
Museum, is ascribed to him, on what appears to be quite 
satisfactory authority, by Franciscus Junius, in an edition 
of the work that he published at Amsterdam in 1655. 
The same opinion is expressed by Mr. W. D. Conybeare, 
in his edition of his brother's work on Anglo-Saxon 
poetry. The paraphrase of Caedmon, notwithstanding 
its irregular versification and want of form, displays 
many passages in the highest flight of imagination. 
The harmony and beauty of rhymes wxre then unknown, 
and a poem or song derived its points of consonance 
from alliteration, or the repetition of the same letter in 
words at short intervals. Each line consisted of two 
feet, as a general rule, which made four syllables, and 
sometimes five, when one of the feet was a dactyl. The 
alliteral letter occurred three times, twice in the first and 
once in the second line of every distich, thus — 

Glad ofer 6^rundas 
6^odes candel beorht. 

(Glides over the earth God's candle bright.) Mr. Cony- 
beare expresses the opinion that the poetical ornament 
of rhyme was probably introduced by the Danish poets 
in the reign of Canute (1015-1035), and that author 
gives an example of a rhyming poem, that also retains 



30 WHKNCB C^DMON'S inspiration ? 

alliteration, as the only instance which is still extant 
of a regular imitation of that metre in Saxon. The 
elegance of rhymes was, however, not much practiced 
until the beginning of the i6th century, and even then 
both metres were sometimes blended in the same couplet. 
Their concurrent use must have fettered the free expres- 
sion of thought and weighed upon the imagination. 
Indeed, the soul and passion of the poem must have 
escaped through the double artifice. But Csedmon gave 
an epical power to his descriptions that did not depend 
for its effect upon the jingle of his lines or the mere form 
of his versification. In an age of animalism he idealized 
the spiritual contemplations of the mind, and gave to 
man's nature higher thoughts than the base impulses 
he beheld in the life of those around him. 

Whence came this inspiration of the unlettered peas- 
ant ? Was it simply the outburst of Saxon genius in its 
new conditions, looking down upon the dismantled 
shrines of the old heathen worship, and replacing them 
with a new melody instead of the metrical fragments 
which had been kept alive by recitation from the old 
barbarism, and which were only rife with tales of blood- 
shed and plunder. That old oral poetry was still the 
song of the feast and the music of the fireside, and no 
doubt perpetuated the wild and mystic temper of a van- 
ished age. 

Genius most always takes us by surprise, and we can 
scarcely ever understand its secret or its work. In the 
region where Csedmon lived he may have unconsciously 
imbibed a diviner sympathy than his rude neighbors 
could understand, or even himself. The weather-beaten 
shores from which he beheld the sun begin to fleck th^ 



POETIC CONDITIONS AND SURROUNDINGS. 3 1 

East with purple hues, the azure vault of day, the 
golden sunset in the distance, and the whispering hours 
of night, were but foregleams of the invisible and the 
impalpable to one who was born a poet. The veil which 
separates the spiritual world from the natural to the eye 
of sense is thicker and more solid than the granite rock ; 
but to the poetic sight it is thinner than the invisible 
ether in which our planet floats through its orbit. Csed- 
mon was reared amid a scenery to which the wreathings 
of mountain mists and the roar of stormy elements across 
the sea gave movement and grandeur. The play of land 
and water, the beauty of the visible heavens, the per- 
fumed and golden light of the morning, were the imagery 
pictured upon his mind. The simple faith of the period 
kept up the old legends about spiritual presence in the 
green shades, and voices in soft west winds; and no 
doubt his memory overflowed with the tales of heavenly 
charms, and spells, and phantoms, that were told round 
the hearthstone of the lowly and the humble. The 
antique legend of his vision raises human thought into 
the mystery of the miraculous. He depicts the anger 
and dismay of Satan, the plotter of all the crimes in 
heaven, and exalts with the angels and spirits who adore 
the "lyord of Hosts," as if he had obtained the secret 
of invisible realities and was already in unison with the 
eternal life which he describes. 

Csedmon sung his sacred hymns in the vernacular, 
and in less than one hundred and fifty years afterwards 
Alfred the Great paid great attention to its cultivation. 
It had assumed a form fit for literary composition, and 
it was in this flourishing condition when the Danes 
renewed their predatory incursions upon the coast and 



32 DANISH IDIOMS INTRODUCED. 

carried their ravages into the interior. They succeeded 
in driving Alfred into concealment (848)., but emerging 
from his retreat, he defeated the Danes with immense 
slaughter, taking a great many prisoners. He stipulated 
with them that they should settle permanently in North- 
umbria. In their former incursions they had pillaged 
and sacked that territory repeatedly, leaving standing 
no habitation however humble, no structure however 
sacred. It was utterly depopulated — a wide-spread 
desert of ruin and desolation. He reasoned correctly 
that as there was no plunder there for them to live upon, 
they would be obliged to create by industry the means 
of subsistence. Some of them, unrestrained by their 
promise, took to the sea and resumed their predatory 
life; but by far the greater number took to the soil, and 
their children became incorporated with the common 
English people, and ultimately grew to be the prepon- 
derating element in that region. This fact is illustrated 
by the large infusion of Danish words and idioms 
throughout the various dialects of the North, and an 
acute writer has stated that it would be easy for even a 
superficial observer to come to the conclusion that the 
common speech is mainly and essentially Danish in its 
whole texture. The peasantry and common people, per- 
haps, little suspect that many of their most characteristic 
idioms came originally from the lips of the old Scandi- 
navian vikings, who brought them into the district a 
thousand years ago. 

Alfred's work, however, did not stop here. His 
influence upon the literature of his country was admir- 
able. The Danes had destroyed the monasteries and 
the books and libraries they contained, All places of 



AI.FRKD THB GRKAT. 33 

learning had been swept by the wing of destruction, 
and of teaching there had been none for years. Alfred 
declared that when he took the kingdom, very few south 
of the Humber, and few^er still beyond it, could under- 
stand their prayers in English. He called to his court 
the most learned men from different parts of the Conti- 
nent, to assist him in the work of instruction ; and re- 
quired that all the monasteries should become schools 
for educating his subjects. There was a hall of instruc- 
tion in the royal palace, where he taught the young 
nobles himself. 

Translations of books from the lyatin into the ver- 
nacular were made for the information of the common 
people. The Gospels were rendered into Anglo-Saxon, 
as were also the histories of Bede and several other 
books in history, geography, moral philosophy, and re- 
ligion. Especially the books and verses of Boethius, 
" the last man of genius produced by ancient Rome," 
and of whom Mackintosh observes, " whose representa- 
tions of the natural equality of men, and whose invec- 
tives against tyrants, he (Alfred), and at least with as 
generous a spirit, rendered into Anglo-Saxon verse." 

These educational reforms were enforced with such 
energy that after a few years Alfred could survey his 
kingdom and "thank God that those who sat in the 
chair of instructor were capable of teaching." 

He also ordained that a national record of events should 
be kept from year to year, which is often mentioned by 
writers as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. It mUvSt have 
been something like our annual cyclopaedias, giving the 
details of the nation's history and progress for the diffu- 
sion of correct knowledge and general intelligence. It 

3 



34 I^HE DANKS AND GOTHS. 

is Stated that the king had a copy fastened by a chain 
at the Cathedral in Winchester, where all who could 
read might do so for themselves and others. These 
chronicles are now considered one of the most important 
and reliable sources of English history. They were 
kept continuous for almost a hundred years after the 
Norman Conquest. 

The history of England presents many scenes of 
invasion and war. One of the greatest of these was 
when, in the last da3^s of the tenth century, the Danes 
again invaded her shores, not only to plunder her, but 
to conquer her into complete subjecftion to their kings. 
All the people that dwelt upon the shores of the North 
Sea and around the Baltic were known in those ages as 
Goths. They overran the Continent, and there was 
scarcely a town or city that they had not visited. They 
were known by various designations according to 
the country they occupied. The Scandinavian Goths 
were on the north side of the Baltic, the German Goths 
on the south of it. The Ostro-Goths founded the king- 
dom of Italy, the Norman- Goths sliced Normandy from 
France. In Spain they were called Visi- Goths, on the 
banks of the Danube Moso-Goths, and in England they 
were called Danes. All were of the same stock, and 
had the same language, which by degrees became 
changed, either from their intercourse with the native 
inhabitants, or from the acquisition of new manners and 
knowledge, or from more peaceful pursuits of life 
induced by the precepts of Christianity. Various dia- 
lects sprung up in their widely separated colonies, giv- 
ing birth to so many of the most important languages of 
Europe. 



THK SCANDINAVIAN GOTHS. 35 

The Scandinavian Goths had a very peculiar system 
of Runic letters or characfters which they employed for 
brief inscriptions, or in the place of written communica- 
tions. These characters were principally cut in stone 
or on wood, and many of those on stone have been dis- 
covered and placed in museums and in archaeological 
collections. We are familiar with the claim that the 
characters, ]> and p, are Gothic runes, adopted into the 
Anglo-Saxon alphabet, and transferred into early Eng- 
lish to represent the sounds of tk and w, as there were 
no other signs for those letters. The Gothic scalds, or 
poets, sang and recited sagas, describing the deeds that 
had been performed by their chiefs, or by their brave 
and warlike ancestors. The old Bddas, or sacred 
hymns, contained an account of the religion of the 
Goths, which no doubt resembled that of their German 
kindred. 

The Danes who visited England about the year looo 
were of the same general character as those who had 
plundered the Continent. They spared neither age nor 
sex, they burned and destroyed what they could not 
use, they desecrated the shrines and churches, and put 
their horses in the stalls of the priests. In this dreadful 
war the Danes finally succeeded in placing their king 
upon the Saxon throne of England, by the consent of 
the vanquished, and established a dynasty that ruled 
the kingdom till the days of Edward the Confessor. A 
modified form of Danish idioms was introduced by this 
last invasion along the eastern portions of the country 
and as far as the Tweed. It is not a remarkable circum- 
stance that the Danes of Scandinavia introduced a very 
great infusion into th^ colloquial speech of the people 



36 



KNGlvlSH WORDS OF ANGI,0-SAXON ORIGIN. 



within the region just mentioned. We can account for 
this only on the ground that the^^ were more numerous 
than any of the invaders from other nations. 

We have already remarked that the Anglo-Saxon 
is the basis of modern English. Compare, for instance, 
the following Anglo-Saxon words of King Alfred's time 
with words of the same form and meaning in our own 
language : 



othere 
others 


• 


saed 
said 


i 


his 
his 


• 


he 
he 


kyng 
king 


[ 


manna 
man 


■ 


half 
half 


\ 


catt 
cat 


tnanig 
many 


[ 


nama 
name 


• 


hand 
hand 


■ 


sac 
sack 


thin can 
to think 


[ 


land 
land 


• 


bed 
bed 


■ 


apt 
apple 


northweadum ) 
northward j" 


west 
west 




fewu'}n 
few 










it 
it 




is 
is 


\ 





The Anglo-Saxon article se^ which corresponds to 
our definite the, furnishes an example of the manner in 
which we have made several parts of speech from the 
variations in the declension of a single word : 





Mas. 


Fern. 


Neut. 


Nom. 


se 


seo 


thaet 


Gen. 


thaes 


thaere 


thaet 


Dat. 


tham 


thaere 


tham 


Ace. 


thone 


tha 


thaet 



The number of words in this declension are twelve, 
from which we have formed the personal pronoun them, 
and the relatives this, those, who, which, and also that as 
a conjunction and an adjective, and sometimes as a 



BULK OF KNGI.ISH FROM THE SAMF SOURCE. 37 

relative pronoun, so that each case of the definite article 
in Anglo-Saxon gives place to a word in English of 
nearly the same form, but applied to a different part of 
speech, though with nearly the same signification. 

By applying this method of analyzing, one will 
become convinced that the great bulk of English words 
in current usage are mainly derived from the same 
source. It is estimated that the Anglo-Saxon part 
of our speech contains upwards of twenty-three thou- 
sand words, or more than one half of all we employ 
in common discourse. The hand-books give a stud}^ 
of one thousand Anglo-Saxon root w^ords, and of four 
thousand more which have grown out of them by deri- 
vation. In many of these the characteristic termina- 
tions have been dropped, and prefixes and sufiixes have 
been added to others, and in numerous cases by a 
metathesis of a syllable they have assumed their present 
forms in our language. From the days of Milton our 
authors have cultivated its ingredients and polished 
them into euphonious harmony, until w^e have a litera- 
ture more classical than that of any of the tongues 
which have contributed to the structure of our own. 

Another abundant source of English is in lengthening 
Anglo-Saxon roots by the addition of prefixes and suf- 
fixes. An example of this is found in the word will. 
By adding a syllable we have willing, by another we 
have willingly, and by still another we have willingness. 
By adding the negative prefix, also of Anglo-Saxon 
origin, to the word, we have the same number of terms 
over again, as unwilling, unwillingly, and unwilling- 
ness. A different sufiix gives another class of com- 
pounds, as wilful, wilfully, wilfulness, and a corres- 



38 



COMPOUNDING BY PRIjFIXE^S AND SUFFIXE^S. 



ponding number with the negative prefix. Thus we 
have created many derivatives whose roots and 
branches are all Anglo-Saxon. The Anglo-Saxon 
prefixes are twenty-three in number and the suffixes 
twenty-seven; and the great bulk of our compound 
vocables are formed by their use. The hand-book 
informs us that the suffix ness forms about thirteen 
hundred derivative words alone, and the negative 
particle un has an application wherever it is necessary 
to indicate the absence of a quality expressed by an 
adjective, or the condition denoted by a participle, or 
anything opposing or contrary to the meaning of a great 
number of verbs and phrases in common use ; while the 
derivatives in ly and ing constitute a class so numerous 
that no attempt can be made to state or limit their 
extent. 

I close this chapter, then, by observing that from 
constant use, from its facility to convey our meaning, 
and perhaps from an unconscious preference, we fall into 
the adoption of Saxon words more readily than those of 
any other of the ingredients of our dialect. In all 
compositions which relate to the daily necessities of life, 
to our constant emotions and desires, as well as to the 
amusements or conversations of the hour, or even the 
charms of oratory, the Anglo-Saxon predominates in 
our vocabulary, and is the most congenial to our ears 
and feelings. 



CHAPTER in. 

1. The Norman Conquest. 6. Anglo-Saxon Inflexion. 

2. French and Anglo-Saxon. 7. Small Quantity of French 

3. Semi-Saxon to 1250. in Semi-Saxon. 

4. Brut of Layamon. 8. The Ormulum. 

5. The Ancren Riwle (Ancient 9. Genesis and Exodus. 

Rule). 10. Owl and Nightingale. 

Thk Norman conquest introduced the next great 
change in the history of our mother tongue. That event 
was the era of a new form of government, and a new form 
of language. French had previously been regarded only 
as an accomplishment. Most all the nobles spoke it, but 
it was not recognized in any official way till William the 
Conqueror seized the Saxon crown of England after the 
battle of Hastings (1066). The work of reconstruction 
began by establishing Norman- French as the language 
of the court. The laws were promulgated in French, 
and it was the only language taught in the schools or 
spoken by the nobility. The proceedings in courts of 
law were conducted in that tongue, and it became an 
object of ambition to all who had any social position to 
learn it and to speak it. The vernacular was threatened 
with extinction, but they who spoke it were still the 
great mass of the people, and they adhered to the ances- 
tral tongue with a pertinacity that no influence could 
overawe and no inducement turn aside. 



40 TENACITY OE HUMAN SPEECH. 

We here witness one of the most singular phenom- 
ena in the history of language. A whole people were 
expected to change their tongue and adopt that of a 
conqueror. Other kingdoms had been subdued. The 
Romans respected the institutions and speech of the 
conquered races, and made no other attempt to intro- 
duce lyatin than was necessary for the transaction of 
business. The Goths, who overran all the kingdoms 
of Europe, never disturbed the native dialects of the 
people they subdued, and even the Normans, when they 
subjugated the northern region of France, actually 
adopted the language of the country as their own. But 
in England they treated the native speech as fit only for 
serfs and slaves, and turned it over to the lowest class 
of the people ; and yet this despised and neglected 
tongue became the basis of modern English, and con- 
stitutes the greatest part of our talk in conversation, in 
business, and poetry. The phenomenon is a singular 
instance of the tenacity of human speech, and illustrates 
the impossibility of changing it otherwise than in the 
natural course of development. When we consider the 
extraordinary means by which it w^as sought to eradi- 
cate it, the power that was exerted in favor of its rival, 
and the depressed condition of those who spoke it, is it 
not surprising that it was able not only to maintain its 
existence, but to become the leading form of speech of 
those who despised and scorned it? Besides, the Nor- 
man-French was the most polished language in Europe. 
The great romances of chivalry, which constituted the 
reading of the age, were written in that dialect. The 
noble and the peasant were encouraged to speak it in 
their daily intercourse. The Saxon lawyer, as well as 



ANGI.O-SAXON AND NORMAN-FRKNCH COMBINE. 4I 

the Norman, had to acquire its complete knowledge in 
order to practice his profession. The grand officers of 
state, as well as the petty ones in the employment of the 
government, must be familiar with it, and all grades of 
society above the very lowest were interested in teach- 
ing it to their children. There was no hope of favor at 
court without it ; there was no chance of promotion or 
position for those who did not understand it. But the 
people spoke it among themselves, related the old-time 
traditions and sang their ballads in its old familiar tones 
and words, till writers began to compose and poets to 
make their verses in it. Thus by a series of the most 
extraordinary events, the language which we speak has 
descended to us through the ordeal of persecution and 
the fiery furnace of affliction, like many of the other 
privileges we inherit from the past. 

In the course of a century and a half the two streams 
began to combine in the formation of our English. The 
Anglo-Saxon is the basis and Norman- French the 
superstructure of the edifice. When we compare the 
proportions of the two elements we will find an unex- 
pected parity of numbers, but when we compare those 
in actual use we will find the Anglo-Saxon predomi- 
nating more than two to one. This is not a difference in 
mere taste, but in the actual usefulness of the words we 
select. If, for instance, you were to communicate about 
a matter of business, you would employ Saxon terms al- 
most exclusively ; but if you issued an invitation to an 
evening entertainment, you would select most of your 
words from the French element. If you were writing an 
article for a magazine, you would employ both in about 
equal proportions, but in composing a poem you would 



t/ 



42 comparao^ive: usk of THKSE) ingrkdiknts. 

resort to the monosyllabic terms, which are nearly all 
Saxon. Take another example. If you were called upon 
to write a description of a battle, you would naturally fall 
into military phraseology, which is largely of French 
origin ; but if you undertook to describe the peaceful 
life of a man who goes regularly about his daily pursuits 
and performs his duty to his neighbors as w^ell as to 
himself, you would employ at least two thirds of your 
words from the Saxon element. If, however, you were 
a student of medicine, and were required to write a 
description of a disease and the remedies appropriate to 
its treatment, you would use a great number of words 
from the Latin and French combined, but even then it 
would be impossible to construct a single sentence with- 
out the crisp and expressive particles, that are all Saxon. 
In writing a sermon or delivering an address, it would 
be a very great advantage to know how to use the dif- 
ferent ingredients of our tongue in just proportions, and 
there can be no doubt but the most part should be of 
Saxon origin. It is the language of the people, and they 
can understand it better than any other part of our 
vocabulary. There is also a grace and beauty in the 
Saxon sounds that come home to the ear and the heart 
of an English speaking audience. To move the feelings, 
to excite the passions, and to convince the judgment are 
the requisites of public speaking, and these ends can be 
attained more strikingly with Saxon than with any other 
in the whole range of our language. The vernacular of 
a people always affects them more than foreign idioms, and 
the English speaker ought to remember that all the 
forms of ancient oratory were effective only because the 
speakers used the native tongue of their people without 



SKMI-SAXON — I^AYAMON'S BRUT. 43 

the slightest intermixture of foreign elements. Demos- 
thenes spoke the unmixed speech of Athens, and Cicero 
that of Rome, and they have established, perhaps, more 
than any of their contemporaries the standard of their 
respective nations. The greatest preachers and orators 
in modern times have generally pursued the same course. 
The long, sonorous swell of lyatin vocables resounds upon 
the ear with a grand and solemn cadence, which fit them 
for great and important occasions ; but w^hen the heart 
is to be touched and the feelings aroused, the orator will 
invariably turn to the Saxon etymons for his noblest and 
most tender forms of declamation. 

It was not until the close of the twelfth century that 
English was used in prose or poetry. The earliest forms 
of literature are generally in verse, and such was the 
beginning of our own. At the period just mentioned 
there appeared a curious work in half-and-half Saxon 
and English. It was a poem in what has been styled 
Semi-Saxon, the earliest written form in which our lan- 
guage appears. It is not like anything else, for it is 
neither Saxon nor English, but the germ of the latter 
embodied in the former. This is the Brut of Layamon, 
and Mr. Hallam says that it " exhibits, as it were, the 
chrysalis of the English language." It is undoubtedly 
invested with that peculiar interest which attaches, if 
not to the first, certainly to about the first step in our 
own literature. A brief description of it is therefore 
allowable. Layamon had in his mind, as he says, the 
wish " to tell the noble deeds of England, and whence 
they came who first had English land." He laid aside 
for the time his sacerdotal functions, with the intention 
of seeking books " all over the land," to aid in his poet- 



44 i^ayamon's brut. 

ical effort. He conceived the idea of translating into 
the vernacular English the story which had been com- 
posed in Latin about a hundred years before, by Geoffroy 
of Monmouth, and which had been rendered into Nor- 
man-French by Wace, a Norman poet of that day, with 
great fidelity to the original. Layamon was a poet of a 
different stamp. He added to the original about as 
much again as it contained, and rewrote the whole 
narrative with a large infusion of other fables that were 
popular at the period when he lived, and the passages 
with which he enlarged the work are so frequent as to 
amount to an almost complete change of the text. And 
what he added is thought to be better than the original. 
The great length of the poem and the extremely anti- 
quated form of the language will prevent it from being 
read, except by the student of early English. But Sir 
Frederick Madden has edited an edition of the work 
with a great amount of notes full of historical value, and 
rendered the whole poem literally into modern English, 
so there is some hope that this interesting relic may 
become more familiar to the English speaking world. 

The fable of the story is partially borrowed from the 
^neid of Virgil, ^neas of Troy has a grandson born 
of a princess, daughter of a Saturin king, whose birth 
causes the death of his mother, and who afterwards kills 
his father accidentally while hunting in the forest. His 
name is Brutus, and upon being banished from the 
country, he wanders over the sea till he touches land at 
a Grecian island, where he consults the oracle of Diana, 
who directs him to a land in the West in which to settle 
with his followers. He sails along the Mediterranean, 
and other Trojans from Greece and Spain and from the 



layamon's brut. 45 

islands near Sicily join his fleets, which finally land 
upon Albion's isle. He calls the island Britain after 
his own name, and founds a new Tro}^ on the site of 
London, building temples to the Trojan gods and estab- ^ 
lishing Trojan customs and laws for the government. 
From him springs the dynasty of British kings, and the 
Britons, who peopled the land, are the descendants of his 
followers. The kings of the Britons are described, 
especially Arthur of the Round Table, who was the 
greatest of them all. The exploits of this monarch and 
his knights are the chief theme of the latter part of the 
poem. King Arthur always appears full of courage and 
knightly courtesy. The descriptions are often highly 
poetical, and the great characters are drawn with the 
hand of a master. Take, for an instance, the story of 
King Arthur when he appears covered with armor and 
glistening with steel ; he mounts his charger, and rush- 
ing into the lists shivers his lance into splinters, and 
then drawing his sword continues the combat. The 
fight between Gwain, the Green Knight, and the three 
monsters that beset his journey when in quest of the 
chapel in the forest, is another example ; or again, when 
the brave Lancelot appears in the court of Camolet, and 
seems to be under a spell of magic, but rallying his 
steed and sinking his spurs in his flanks, he escapes the 
trammels of the magician and severs the head of his 
enchanter. The whole poem is founded upon fabu- 
lous traditions, as if they were taken from the genuine 
page of history, and recounts great battles in which 
men perform feats of strength and valor that could only 
be possible if they were assisted by some power greatly 
above what is human. But it was the age of marvels. 



46 • i^ayamon's brut. 

The deeds of Arthur, the exploits of Charlemagne and 
his twelve pairs, the mighty blast of Roland's horn, 
which was heard at the distance of three leagues like a 
peal of thunder, and the enchanted life of Merlin, the 
Wizard, were the themes of poetry and historical 
romances for many generations, and have served even 
down to the present day to exercise an influence upon 
our literature. The "Idyls of the King" and the 
" Song of Roland" belong to the same realm of fiction, 
and have delighted and will continue to delight man- 
kind till poetry shall lose its charm and fable its attract- 
ive attribute. 

In style and orthography the poem has the appear- 
ance of an extinct language. Most of the words are 
now changed in form, hundreds of them are obsolete, 
but a great many remain in meaning as they are used in 
modern English. The nouns, adjectives, pronouns, and 
verbs are wholly derived from the Anglo-Saxon, but the 
perplexing case endings of the Anglo-Saxon declensions 
are greatly modified. In the latter language the gen- 
ders, numbers, and persons of nouns were represented by 
case endings, and nouns, adjectives, and pronouns relat- 
ing to each other agreed in their terminations, as in the 
Latin. Layamon follows this model and generally, 
though not always, expresses these relations by the 
form of the terminations. There is, however, a tend- 
ency to drop the case endings, or rather, perhaps, to 
confound them. In other words, he uses the same end- 
ings for the nominative, accusative, and vocative, both in 
the singular and plural. He also merges the dative and 
instrumental, and resorts to prepositions, a great abun- 
dance of which he derived from thQ Saxon dialect, in 



HIS USK OF PRONOUNS. 47 

which they were in constant use, as well as inflected 
forms to impart precision in the order of expression. The 
tendency to suppress these terminations led to the art of 
connecting words by the aid of particles, and by arrang- 
ing them in juxtaposition ; and this mode was still further 
advanced in the Ormulum, and alm^ost completed in 
Chaucer, according to what is now the practice. He 
preserves the personal pronouns, he, his, and him, which 
are found in the Anglo-Saxon declensions, and he seems 
to use them in the same way as that observable in Eng- 
lish grammar ; but heo and hit did not give way to she 
and it for nearly a century later, and heore (their) and 
heom (them) did not approach their present form till the 
invention of printing. Chaucer constantly uses hir to 
signify their and her. Indeed, the decay of pro- 
nominal forms commenced by Layamon, is not so 
strikingly obvious as to justify an attempt to lay much 
stress upon the changes. The definite article in Anglo- 
Saxon was declined with numbers, genders, and cases, 
making twenty-four different forms in all. It had also 
an indeclinable article or character, \e (the), used for 
all cases and genders. In Vol. I., page 2, in the later 
text, we have this instance : 

J?at he wolde of Engelond 
>pe histresse telle. 

(That he would of England the history tell. ) Eaj^amon, 
sometimes in the earlier text, and most always in the 
last, employs this monosyllable instead of the senseless 
inflexions of the old grammar. The improvement was 
so obvious that the old terminations became obsolete, 
and this form of the article was soon established in its 
modern use. He has also the indefinite article a, which 



48 i^ayamon's brut. 

makes this part of speech complete. Sir Frederick Mad- 
den cites this line as an example, Vol. II, page 65 : 

Buten a few wifmen. 
(But a few women.) This form is indeclinable through- 
out. The form an appears to be declined in all the 
oblique cases. We read the first line on page 64, id. : 
Heo bigunnen aenne castel. 

(He began a castle.) Here aenne is found in the accusa- 
tive case, and is derived from " an," a word of the same 
form, meaning one. Indeed, it is not till we come to 
Chaucer that we find this form of the article a as now. 
The verbs are characterized by the innumerable varieties 
of inflexion in the Anglo-Saxon conjugations, but to him 
is due the first appearance of shall^ will, would, and could 
as auxiliaries. He made a great change in the present 
participle, which, ending in ende and inde, he turned 
into hige. It still forms a part of modern speech, with 
the final e retrenched, and gives us an endless supply of 
verbal nouns and adjectives. He is said to have been 
the first to put the accusative case after a passive verb, 
so that instead of " I am forbidden to eat meat," he says 
"I am forbidden meat." He introduces the possessive 
personal pronoun his to express the genitive case. In 
describing King I,ear, when he cursed his youngest 
daughter, he says : 

Iwaera his hude and his heowe. 

(His skin and his hue turned.) He also planted the 
preposition, of, which finally superseded the genitive 
case, the last of the classical forms to disappear in the 
progressive fusion of our grammar. We find innumer- 
able words in this poem that are constantly in our 



i^ayamon's brut. 49 

mouths, such as prepositions and conjunctions. These, 
however, he inherited from our common ancestors, and 
he has also such words as Christendom^ cross, dead, life, bold, 
time, winter, craft, talk, hail, rock, and many others, to 
say nothing of the multitude which have changed their 
meaning or spelling. Of the latter, here are some 
examples : 



helpe 


help 


hors 


horse 


heiher 


hither 


idelnesse 


idleness 


hille 


hill 


lande 


land 


ham 


home 


token 


took 


helm 


helmet 


god 


good 


hand 


hand 







He interchanges vowels, and often uses a single one 
in place of a diphthong, and sometimes a vowel, a con- 
sonant, and even a syllable disappear in favor of his 
measure, if it can be said he has any measure. There 
was no standard yet, and every writer spelled and twisted 
his words to suit himself. As already intimated, there 
are two texts of Layamon. The latest came many years 
after the first, and some marked changes must have been 
engrafted upon the language in the interval. Old words, 
and even phrases, have become obsolete, the alterations 
in orthography are numerous, and Sir Frederick Mad- 
den informs us that the later text is seldom uniform, 
* ' but exhibits everywhere the effects of a gradual desue- 
tude of the original structure of the Anglo-Saxon forms 
of grammar. ' ' The author failed to enrich his vocabu- 
lary with words of foreign origin, and he rejects the 
Norman- French as if it were unknown, thus showing 
the anti-Norman feeling one hundred and fifty years 
after the battle of Hastings. There are, however, more 

4 



50 IvAyamon's brut. 

words of Norman origin in the later text than in the first 
one, and there are only two or three Latin words in hun- 
dreds of lines. 

The Brut of I/ayamon is said to be among the earliest 
examples of rhyme, three and even four lines rhyming 
together, followed by several lines that do not rhyme at 
all. Couplets and triplets are scattered about at irregu- 
lar intervals, without rule or principle, and the allitera- 
tive system, which was the main distinction of the 
Anglo-Saxon poetry, is also preserved ; while there are 
many portions that possess no one of these character- 
istics. The lines are of unequal length, of four, five, six, 
seven, and eight syllables, and capitals are not used at 
the beginning of the lines, except after a full stop. 
Indeed, the poem is not constructed on any plan of regu- 
lar versification. It is in the old Saxon alliterative 
metre ; that is, the lines are divided into iambics of two 
feet each, making four syllables to a verse. In the first 
two feet there is a word in each beginning with the same 
initial letter, and one word with the same initial letter 
in the first foot of the second line. The pause, or 
caesura, is between the feet so as to make the harmony. 
The syllables are a long and a short one alternately, and 
the former is twice as long as the latter, and this is 
called the quantity of the verse ; but it is not very 
likely that I^ayamon observed these rules very strictly, 
for the lines are quite irregular, sometimes a distich and 
sometimes two lines in a verse. The harmony consists 
in placing a pause, as just observed, at the end of every 
foot, and accentuating the first syllable in every word, 
thus giving a swinging sound to the voice in reading ; 
that is, if we can judge the intention of the poet. But 



IvAyamon's mktre;. 51 

it is extremely difficult to determine what rules of 
prosody, if any, were considered by him. I am aware 
that Sir Frederick Madden is of opinion that the rules 
upon which Layamon relied for his harmony are quite 
clear and intelligible. This may have appeared so to 
Sir Frederick, who bestowed a study of many years upon 
the work, and quite likely he caught the cadence in the 
course of his protracted labors. But to an ordinary ear 
or eye it would be all but impossible to mention a single 
line where any settled rule is observed. The author 
was probably well acquainted with the rules of lyatin 
prosody, but he has certainly failed to apply them to his 
verse, and there is not much reason to believe that, at 
that early day, there was any great attention paid to the 
subject of metrical harmony. 

Mr. Guest thinks that I^ayamon gave accents, that 
is, increased loudness, to his rhyming and his alliterative 
syllables ; but it may well be doubted if mere loudness or 
sharpness of tone can add to the harmony of a verse. 
The grammar is not consistent. The verb is often in one 
place and the subject so far from it that it is difficult to 
make the connedlion. The adjectives have generally the 
same declensions as in Anglo-Saxon, but they are not 
adhered to uniformly, and there is a marked tendency to 
neglect them. The amount of the whole change from the 
Anglo-Saxon consists in dropping the old terminations 
and in taking on newer forms in their place, the freer use 
of the article for pointing out the object in its simple form 
of the. The old Anglo-Saxon forms were melting away. 
The inflexions were crumbling under the grinding process 
of common usage, and the particles were creeping into 
importance as the means of connecting words and sen- 



52 THE VAI,UE OF HIS WORK. 

tences, but had not yet acquired a definite place or even a 
name in the language, except to designate the subject of 
a verb or the objective case of a noun. 

But the great value of the Brut of lyayamon is its bold 
attempt to write the new language in accordance with 
the forms it had acquired in his day. It was the spoken 
dialect of the people, and no one used it who knew either 
French or Latin. The common people did not under- 
stand the art of reading or writing ; there were no schools 
for their instruction, and it is barely possible that they 
could dimly follow the mass in the language of the church, 
or sing the hymns of the Holy Nativity in the days of 
Christmastide. No one was able even to teach them the 
forms of their own dialect. There were no rules of orthog- 
raphy, and none on the subject of composition. All was 
new and untried, and perhaps there were few who could 
read what Layamon wrote. These difiiculties, however, 
seemed to have stimulated Layamon. He wished to 
see the vernacular put into such shape as would show 
it fit for literary composition. He was deeply impressed, 
doubtless, with the condition of the masses, deprived as 
they were of nearly all the means of cultivation. He 
must have felt that a whole people could not always 
remain in such a degree of ignorance and oppression as 
he daily witnessed. When we recall the fact that it 
was the age of iron despotism, that all power was in the 
hands of the oppressors, and that the means of making 
one's way in the world were engrossed by a class of 
men who cared nothing for the poor and despised of the 
land, we can somewhat imagine the condition of things 
that confronted Layamon when he commenced his work. 
He deserves our gratitude for his unselfish labors to 



HIS SKRVICKS IN PRESERVING OUR I.ANGUAGE. 53 

preserve and improve our mother tongue. He was the 
first to show that the great subjects upon which the 
literature of that day was engaged, could be treated in 
that dialect which his countrymen understood. In this 
way he rendered great and invaluable service to the 
language of the humble people like those who consti- 
tuted the bulk of his flock. He was a fair example of 
Chaucer's good parson, and did his best to raise up the 
humble to a higher plane of existence and hope. There 
are many examples of this kind recorded in historj^, but 
none, I think, are so remarkable as that of Layamon. 
His church upon the banks of the Severn was a pleasant 
retreat. We can imagine that he was respedled and 
loved by his people, and honored as a man of learning 
by his superiors. But forsaking all these, he undertakes 
a laborious journey through a country that was a com- 
parative wilderness. He sets out alone, not in quest of 
adventures, but in a search for books, for information, 
and study. Nor does he return till he has found many 
an old manuscript, many a withered and tattered folio, 
many a rude old missal, many a curious relic of the old 
vmters ; and perhaps loading his treasures upon his 
mule or other beast of burden, he travels homeward, 
and laying down his precious load upon the altar where 
he worships, he turns their leaves over "lovingly." 
Brave old man ! He brings to his stately church upon 
the Severn the books he has borne through the wilder- 
ness, and which he has gathered from many a cloister 
cell, from many a priestly library, from the crypts of the 
great cathedrals, where they had lain negledled and 
mouldering in dampness and oblivion. He pursues his 
design with unabated ardor in the abodes of wealth and 



54 HIS PICTURE^SQUK JOURNE^YS. 

power, and in the humble dwelHngs of the poor, who 
have snatches of ballads and old-time traditions, and he 
interests them all in his mission, for he tells alluring tales 
of romance, how fair ladies fell in love with humble men 
for their worth and valor ; how Roland blew his magic 
horn at Roncesvalles. He relates the marvels of the 
grand old days when Arthur held swa}^ all over the land 
and sea, and how he fought and fell and went to fairy- 
land with the beautiful virgins of Avalon. We can 
easily imagine the good priest telling all these wonderful 
things in hall and hovel, and delighting his simple- 
minded hosts, who were delighted to give him shelter 
and food, and good cheer and fellowship. There is 
nothing improbable in all this, for the story-teller in 
those days was received and treated as a friend. He 
was a welcome guest, and whenever he arrived at any 
place or home the neighbors gathered to hear the news 
and enjoy his recitals. 

We do not speak of lyayamon's Brut on account of 
its literary merits, but for the invaluable service it 
rendered in rescuing our language from utter neglect, 
and putting it in such form that others might follow. 
And such was the result, for native writers appeared in 
various parts of the country, and in the course of that 
and the following century a great mass of manuscripts 
accumulated, that have been exhumed by our students 
of early English, showing us how great a vein was 
opened in the English heart and intellect. 

I select a few lines from the older text. A, of the 
poem, in order to illustrate the foregoing remarks upon 
its structure and grammar. (Vol. II., pp. 463-4.) The 
specimen will also afford a view of the singular appearance 



KXTRACT FROM 'THE BRUT. 55 

of our language at that early day. It is an account of the 
arming of King Arthur when preparing for the battle 
against Colgrim and Childric, near the town of Bath. It 
is also one of the additions that Layamon made to the orig- 
inal poem. I have substituted the letters th for the two 
Anglo-Saxon characters that they are usually made to 
represent. I have also used the letter g for the char- 
acter that is sometimes employed instead of that letter 
in early English. This may lessen the difficulty of the 
reader with injury to the text : 

Tha he hafde al iset 

and al hit isemed 

tha dude he on his bume 

ibroide of stele, 

the makede on alnise smith 

mid athelen his crafte, 

he wes ihate Wygar, 

the witege wurhte. 

His seonken he helede 

mid hose of stele, 

Calibeorne his sword 

he sweinde bi his side, 

hit wes iworht in Aualun 

mid wigcle-fuUe craften. 

Halm he set on hafde, 

haeh of stele 

ther o wes moni gim-ston 

al mid golde bigon. 

He wes Vderes 

thas athen kinges, 

he wes ihaten Goswhit, 

aelehen othere vnilie. 

He heng an his sweore, 

senne sceld deore, 

his nome wes on Bruttise 



56 r:^ndejrkd into modejrn kngi,ish. 

Pridwen ihaten, 
ther wes innen igrauen 
mid rede golde stanen 
an en-lienes deore, 
of drihtenes moder. 
His spere he nom an honde, 
tha Ron wes ihaten. 
Tha he hasden al his i we den 
tha leop he on his steden. 
Tha he mihte bihalden 
tha bihalues stoden 
thene uaeireste eniht 
tha verde seolde leden, 
ne isseh nseuere na men, 
selere eniht nenne 
thene him wes Arthur. 

I subjoin the literal rendering of the above passage, 
by Mr. Madden, into English : 

When he had set all, and it all beseemed, then he put on his 
burny (breastplate), fashioned of steel, that an elvish smith made 
with his excellent craft ; he was named Wygar, the witty wright. 
His shanks (legs) he covered with hose of steel. Caliburn, his sword, 
he hung by his side ; it was wrought in Avalon, with magic craft. 
Helm he set on his head, high, of steel ; thereon was many gem 
stones, all encompassed with gold. It was Uthers, the noble king; 
it was named Goswhit, each other unlike. He hung on his neck a 
precious shield ; its name was in British called Pridven ; therein 
was engraved a precious image of God's mother. His spear he took 
in hand, that was called Ron. When he had all his weeds, then leapt 
he on his steed. Then might they behold who stood beside him, 
the fairest knight that ever host should lead. Never saw any man 
better knight than Arthur ; he was noblest of race. 

The Brut of lyayamon was written about 1205, 
according to the authority of Sir Frederick Madden. 
When the century was fifteen years older, a book called 



ANCRKN RIWIyE^. 57 

the ''Ancren Riwle" (ancient rule) made its appear- 
ance, and it is thought to be the oldest sample of Eng- 
lish prose that has yet been discovered ; and being a 
prose composition, it attests the current modifications 
which marked this transition period of our language 
much better than the rhyming histories of the same age. 
In style and orthography, it seems to our modern eyes 
as if it had once been Anglo-Saxon, but had been seized 
by a barbarous hand and twisted out of shape. Mr. 
Edmund Brock, in a paper contributed to Transactions 
of the Philological Society, Part I., 1865, p. 150, shows 
that there is considerable regularity in the grammatical 
forms occurring in the Ancren Riwle, that its language 
bears a striking resemblance to the Anglo-Saxon, and 
that the nouns, adjectives, pronouns, and verbs retain 
many of their former inflecftions, but that anomalies and 
changes are of frequent occurrence. He thinks the 
date of the work is probably about 1220-30. The book 
has been edited and translated for the Camden Society 
by James Morton, who is of opinion that Bishop Poor 
was the author, and wrote it for the use of three sisters, 
who had retired to a religious house at Tarente, in Dor- 
setshire, for the purpose of engaging in pious and 
devout exercises. It furnishes much information in 
regard to the state of religion, and the do(5lrines and 
services of the church ; and lays down the rules of con- 
duct which should regulate the lives of the three pious 
women who had withdrawn from the world. The fol- 
lowing extracft will serve to show the early forms in 
which English prose began to emerge from the Anglo- 
Saxon cradle, in which its infancy was rocked ; and it 
will also afford a glimpse of the way in which recluses 



58 ANCRKN RIWI<E. 

were expected to live. It is transcribed from the edition 
prepared for the Camden Society (pp. 6 and 7) and is 
No. 57 of its publicsrtions : 

De vittre riwle "Set >ufton cleopede is monnes findles ; nis for 
noMng elles istald bute forte seruie ^e inre. >et meke'S feston, 
wakien, kold, here werien, swuch o'Sre heardschipes >et moni flechs 
mai >olien moni ne, mai nout. Vor ]>i moi >eos riwle chungen 
hire misliche ofter euch ones manere efter hire efne. Vor sum is 
strong, sum is unstrong, mei ful wel beo ewite paie god mid lesse. 
Sum is clergesse, sum is nout, mot te more wurchen, an oSer wise 
siggen hire ures. Sum is old ateUch is de leasse dred of. Sum is 
gung linelich is neode l?e betere ward. Vor ]?i schal efrich ancre 
habden J>e uttre riwle, efter schriftes read, hwat se he bit hat hire 
don in obedience "Se enowe^ hire manere hire strene^, he mai >e 
vittre riwle chaungen efter wisdom alse he iseh'S >>et te inre mai 
beon best iholden. 

Nothing could more clearly show the vast transfor- 
mation that our language has passed through in eight 
hundred years than Mr. Morton's translation of this 
passage into modern English. Here it is : 

"The external rule, which I called the handmaid, is of man's 
contrivance ; nor is it instituted for anything else but to serve the 
external law. It ordains fasting, watching, enduring cold, wearing 
haircloth, and such other hardships as the flesh of many can bear 
and many cannot. Wherefore this rule may be changed and varied 
according to every one's state and circumstances. For some are 
strong ; some are weak, and may very well be excused, and please 
God with less ; some are learned and some are not, and must work 
the more, and say their prayers at the stated hours in a different 
manner. Some are old and ill-favored, of whom there is less fear ; 
some are young and lively, and have need to be more on their 
guard. Every anchoress must therefore observe the outward rule, 
according to the advice of her confessor, and do all obediently what- 
ever he enjoins and commands her, who knows her state and her 
strength. He may modify the external rule, as prudence may 
direct, and as he sees that the inward rule may thus be best kept." 



FUSION OF DIAI^ECTS. 59 

The work is one of great interest, from the fact of its 
being the first, or among the first, attempts to write our 
language in prose, and exhibits the appearance of 
Anglo-Saxon when it was merging into English. For 
instance, many of the words retain the Anglo-Saxon 
form, but are shorn of its inflexions, and they appear 
to be borrowed from all the dialects spoken by the dif- 
ferent tribes before they came to Britain. The Angles, 
who settled north of the river Thames and towards the 
east, were the most numerous of the invaders, and 
many of their words and forms of expression must have 
traveled to Dorsetshire, where the Ancient Rule was 
composed, and had there become incorporated with the 
local dialects. In this way the etymologies of this little 
book can be traced back to the shores of Holstein, Han- 
over, and along the North Sea. There is no reason to 
believe that the Saxon had a greater share in forming 
the general language than any of the others, and it is 
certain that they all entered into the composition of the 
new one. In the South, where the Saxons and Jutes 
predominated, their peculiar forms attest their influence, 
and in the eastern and midland districts the language 
was principally derived from the Angles ; and further 
to the north still, other peculiarities attest where the 
Danes and Scandinavians had settled in large numbers. 
In the Ancient Rule we find Saxon forms with an 
intermixture of those from the north, thus proving that 
there was a gradual fusion going on, and a remote 
approximation to the general standard, that finally 
became the literary language of the fifteenth and six- 
teenth centuries. It is interesting thus to trace our 
modern idioms back to their first appearance, and the 



6o 



ANGI.O-SAXON INFI^KXIONS. 



Ancren Riwle is, in this respect, a work of no incon- 
siderable interest to the English philologist. 

The historical study of the Knglish language requires 
us to search out the changes which it has undergone, 
and we will find that these changes consist very much 
in the disappearance of Anglo-Saxon inflexions. It is 
not the least extraordinary among its perplexities that 
the Anglo-Saxon developed the power of extending and 
retrenching the sense of the adje(5live by ascribing to it 
the different meanings of singular and plural numbers, 
of feminine, masculine, and neuter genders, of two de- 
clensions, comprising four cases in the singular and the 
same number in the plural, resulting in over fifty modifi- 
cations ; and these again are either strong or weak 
according to the article which precedes them. We may 
reasonably conjecfture that so many refinements in the 
simplest part of speech would be very inconvenient in 
the practical use of the language. So many forms of 
sele(5lion must have perplexed the vulgar and confused 
the learned. In the Ancren Riwle the adjedlive 
often appears without any of these distindlions, and the 
comparative and superlative degrees are formed by 
adding er or re and est to the positive. These are the 
first important steps towar^ds the simplicity and precision 
of the adjecflive in its modern form. 

The Anglo-Saxon inflexions of the substantives are 
less varied and quite often reje(5led in the Ancren 
Riwle. And here, at the expense of an apparent 
digression from our subje6l, I desire to notice a phase 
of Anglo-Saxon which will enlighten what we have to 
say in regard to the noun. It will be remembered that 
education among the Anglo-Saxons was confined almost 



GRAMMA'TlCAIv FORMS. 6 1 

exclusively to classical studies, especially the Latin. 
Their authors used the Latin language in their writings 
and correspondence. There were no books for the 
instrudlion of the common people until King Alfred 
translated the Bible for their use. This course of study 
in the extindl languages was stri(5lly observed by the 
monastic orders. It is not a matter of much wonder 
that men so deeply imbued with the humanities, as they 
were called, should impart the rules of Latin speech 
into the grammatical forms of the Anglo-Saxon ; but it 
is surprising that they should adopt the Teutonic vocab- 
ularies in mass, and transfer at the same time the Latin 
syntax to a language with which it had no afi&nity. 
We find that a knowledge of any one of the five or six 
Romance languages suffices to unlock all the others, and 
that the Latin is the master key to them all, because 
they all descended from the same Latin stock. The 
Saxon vernacular had an origin from a Northern people, 
who retained their peculiar and distincft diale(5ls. The 
Angles, the Saxons, the Jutes, the Frisians, the Danes, 
and the Scandinavians had all amalgamated upon the 
island and formed a tongue with scarcely a trace from 
the classical lexicon. This unique paradox of harness- 
ing a living language to the grammatical government 
of a dead one, will cease to excite our surprise when we 
bear in mind that the Latin grammar contained the only 
rules then known for the construdlion of language. 
The Saxon writers therefore resorted, without hesitation, 
to the Latin modes of relation, just as a builder would 
to a fine cement to hold together the foundation, pillars, 
and walls of the edifice hewn from the rude granite of 
the Anglo-Saxon material, 



62 GRAMMATICAI, FORMS. 

But to return to the noun as displayed in the Ancren 
Riwle. The Anglo-Saxon noun had a great variety 
of case endings, sometimes by adding a letter or a sylla- 
ble, or by removing them from the word, and these 
inflexions were used, as in the lyatin, to mark its rela- 
tion to the sentence. The cases were four, named 
respectively the nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, 
and perhaps a vocative or instrumental, in place of the 
ablative. It had three numbers, three genders, and five 
declensions, giving over a hundred different forms of 
seledlion, to say nothing of other distinc5lions, in regard 
to abstradl and irregular nouns, in regard to strong and 
weak nouns, in regard to the stem and theme of the 
root, and the euphonic changes, which embraced a great 
variety of modifications, besides a great number of 
irregular forms. We know that the Anglo-Saxon noun 
has come over to a single declension in modern Eng- 
lish, but perhaps we are not aware that this tendency is 
first observable in this obscure and curious little book. 
The case endings are frequently missing, and many of 
them lost. Mr. Brock informs us in his analysis of 
the Ancren Riwle, that the verbs retain nearly all the 
Anglo-Saxon inflexions, but that the nouns have lost 
their endings to a considerable extent, and that the 
declensions are simpler and less varied. In Anglo- 
Saxon, gender was often applied without regard to 
natural sex, but in this book there is an attempt to dis- 
tinguish gender according to real sex, and soon after 
this time all trace of the grammatical gender is lost. 

The possessive personal pronoun his is still encroach- 
ing upon the genitive, though the latter will hold its 
ground for nearly two centuries longer, Indeed, all the 



FOUNDING ANGI.O-SAXON KINGDOMS. 63 

possessives have nearly attained their present form : 
min, thi7i, his, hire {her), ure, ower {your), our, hore 
{their). We also recognize the personal pronouns Ich 
(/), ther, the {thee), we, us, ye, on {you), he, hit {it), 
heo {she), him, hire {her). The neuter relative pro- 
nouns which and what make their appearance, though 
no one would suspedl them in the orthography of hwne 
and hwat, but by placing the w before the initial h we have 
perfedlly familiar forms. The sufhx/z^/ is found in such 
words 2iS pinful, dredful, and sometimes a superlative is 
placed in front of them, as mest pinful, mest dredful. 
Verbal nouns are scattered upon every page; new 
adverbs crop out, I^ayamon's preposition of is repeated, 
and the whole is garnished with many words of Scandi- 
navian, Icelandic, Danish, and even Celtic derivation. 
The Latin quotations are very numerous, and the French 
words amount to three or four per cent, of the whole. 

The swarms that invaded England through so many 
generations, though of the same Gothic stock and 
language, were each distinguished by the peculiar 
dialedl of the tradl of country from which they emigrated. 
The wild tribes scattered over the regions from the 
Baltic to the mouth of the Rhine, joined the ranks of 
the invaders and expelled the vanquished inhabitants. 
The Jutes under Hengist and Horsa commenced their 
incursions in 449, and after a struggle of six years 
succeeded in founding the kingdom of Kent in the 
Southeast. In 477 the Saxons under their leader, Ella, 
seized upon the country south and west of the former, 
and established the kingdom of the South Saxons. In 
495 the kingdom of Wessex was added by another 
eruption. This wa$ soon followed by the subjugation 



64 



ORIGIN OF DIAI^BCTS. 



of Essex and another kingdom of that name. Still later 
the Angles took possession of Norfolk and Suffolk and 
named their conquest the kingdom of East Anglia. 
The eastern coast as far north as what is now Lincoln- 
shire fell a prey to the Danes and Scandinavians, while 
still another tribe of Angles occupied the country north 
of the Humber, including that part of Scotland which 
lies between the Tweed and the Firth of Forth. As 
late as the loth century the Danes appeared again, and 
ravaging the coasts of East Anglia imposed their own 
monarchy upon all England, and Danish kings ruled 
from one end of it to the other for half a century. 
These peoples were of the same Teutonic stock, speak- 
ing closely related diale(5ls of the same language, each 
bringing with it many words and idiomatic phrases 
unknown to the others. Those introduced by the Jutes, 
Saxons, Angles, Danes, Scandinavians, all blending 
into a form of speech which ultimately assumed the 
name of Anglo-Saxon. Its mosaic inlays were abun- 
dantly tindlured with traces of the original dialedls 
which combined in producing it. No one of these 
dialedls had at the period of Semi-Saxon taken prece- 
dence as the exclusively literary language of the whole 
country. Each writer used the forms and terms with 
which he was most familiar. The terms which compose 
the language of Eayamon's Brut were undoubtedly in 
current usage in Worcestershire, where he lived and 
composed his romance. In the Ormulum the distincftly 
marked chara(5ler of its Danish orthography affords 
evidence of a Northeastern origin, where the incursive 
Danes settled in great numbers. This is perhaps the 
reason why the author of the Ormulum always doubles 



ORIGIN OF LOCAL DL^LIiCTS. 65 

the consonants after a short vowel, and sometimes even 
when it is the initial letter, as tthat for thatt. In the 
Owl and Nightingale we are presented with evidence of 
its West of England parentage, where the manuscript 
was originally found, wdiile the Genesis and Exodus is 
as evidently from Midland or Suffolk, where many 
counterpart w^ords of the original are still in constant 
use. Many of these peculiarities still characterize the 
different provinces of England and are, if anything, 
more numerous than the kingdoms into which the 
invaders divided the country. The Scandinavians 
passed over in large numbers to the British coast directly 
opposite to their own, and this accounts for the Norse 
element in the provincialisms of the North, while it is 
easy to find words proper alone to the Saxons, who 
subjugated the South and Midland districfts. What a 
variance you will find between the local dialedls of 
Durham and Essex, and how much do the Western 
shires differ from those of the East, and the Midland 
from them both; to say nothing of the strange basis 
from which the speech of Cornw^all must have been 
derived, and which is distindl from them all. In 1874 
not less than seventeen glossaries had been reprinted, 
illustrating as many different dialedls, and containing 
provincial words that cannot be found in the ordinary 
English didlionaries. 

A more complete familiarit}^ with the Semi- Saxon is 
thought by etymologists to be quite as essential at the 
present moment to an English speaking people, as the 
introduction of either French or Latin neologisms. Its 
harsh sounds have died away, and its native rugged- 
ness has been polished and softened like a transmigration 
5 



66 



ABSKNCK OF FREJNCH WORDS IN SKMI-SAXON. 



into another language. No doubt it was plain Knglish 
as spoken by Saxon tongues and heard by Saxon ears 
in the 13th century. We cannot wonder at the obscurity 
of its grammar and the uncouthness of its orthography. 
With regard to the lingual ingredients of the Semi- 
Saxon literature, it is remarkable as containing scarcely 
any but words of Anglo-Saxon origin. We have already 
seen how few Norman-French words are found in the 
Brut of Layamon. The same neglec5l of that language 
is apparent in all the literary remains of that period. 
In the Owl and Nightingale, which tells in about eight- 
een hundred lines ' ' how birds conversed as well as 
sang, ' ' there are only about twenty words that are not dis- 
tindlly Anglo-Saxon ; and in the Genesis and Exodus, 
that renders the scriptural account of the creation, in four 
thousand one hundred and sixty-two verses there are 
only about fifty from other sources.* While many of 
the words assume their English type, we are led to 
suspe(5t there are other reasons than those of ignorance 
or prejudice for this almost total exclusion of French 
and lyatin elements. The contemporaneous French was 
the most cultivated form of living speech, and possessed 
a rich and copious literature. We have at the present 
day numerous writings of the 13th century in that lan- 
guage, which still excite admiration by their taste and 
refinement. It was superseding the I^atin among the 
scholars of Europe, and authors of other nations em- 
ployed it in preference to the I^atin, on account of the 
felicity of its terms. An Italian employed it, saying, 
' ' If any shall ask me why this book is written in 

*The Ormulum and the Genesis and Kxodus are written in the archaic Semi- 
Saxon, but in point of time were produced shortly after the commencement of 
Uarly English, and they will therefore be more particularly treated in our 
account of the latter period. 



ABSENCE OF FRE:nCH IN SKMI-SAXON. 6/ 

Romance, according to the patois of France, I being 
born Italian, I shall say it is for divers reasons. The 
one is that I am now in France, the other is that French 
is the most delightsome of tongues, and partaketh most 
of the comm^on nature of all languages." 

The Provencal poetry and metrical romances of 
France were the standard literature of Europe. Besides, 
Norman-French had been the official and literary lan- 
guage of England for one hundred and fifty 3- ears, and 
English writers had emplo^^ed it even more frequently 
than the Eatin, and all England resounded with the 
songs of the trouveres and the legends of Alexander 
and Charlemagne. English verses were either trans- 
lated from the French, or constructed in the metrical 
form of its poetry. The Brut of Eay anion was an 
English dress of a French copy, and the Ormulum 
dropped Anglo-Saxon alliteration and appropriated 
French measure and modes of rhA^ning. Nor should we 
forget that all the Semi-Saxon writers were members of 
the monastic orders and, therefore, presumabl}^ familiar 
with classical Eatin, and in the services of the church 
they must have heard the Eolian vowels of Rome almost 
daily. Why, then, did they use so few words of a Eatin 
parentage, and still fewer of the almost equally classical 
French, and restridl themselves to Saxon radicals alone? 
The works we have seen were in poetry, with the ex- 
ception of the Ancren Riwle, which is in prose, and 
is enriched with verbal accretions from other sources 
besides the Saxon only to the extent of five per cent, of 
the whole. And yet no language could be more dire(5t 
and realistic than that employed by these ancient 
rh3miers. The Gothic particles with which they link 



68 WANT OF STYI^E; IN SEMI-SAXON WRITINGS. 

their antique orthographies together give both cer- 
tainty and precision to their meaning, and laid the 
foundation for our system of placing words in the order 
of expression and of using the indeclinable parts of 
speech instead of the variant forms of inflexion. 

The writings of that time are very ordinary every 
way, alternating with the deeds of King Arthur, the 
corruptions of the church, and the small, sad life of the 
common people. They were written in the plainest and 
most idiomatic terms, that formed the vernacular staple 
of these half-and-half Englishmen. There is no revela- 
tion of art here, none of the graces from above. We 
catch in these mouldy texts a mediocrity of thought and 
an obscure background of realism, without any attempt 
at noble expressions or delicate shades of meaning. It 
is true that I^ayamon exhibits here and there in his 
long poem decided revelations of poetic invention, and 
occasionally we have a short and graphic sentiment. 

Nis nawer nan so wes mon 
>>at me ne mai bi-sweken. 

(There is nowhere a man so wise that one may not de- 
ceive him.) 

Aele eniht ah an uuel to don 
aer he worse vuder-son. 

(Each man may do an evil adlion ere he himself receive 
one.) He has also some amusing details, as in the long 
passage describing the fight with the Irish, Vol. II., p. 

332. 

The author of the Ancren Riwle shows great learn- 
ing in mediaeval Latin, and he must have been a pious 
and benevolent soul, judging from his exhortations to 



ITS IvINGUISTiC VAI.uk. 69 

the dear sisters for whose instru(5lion and edification he 
was writing. The translation of the Brut, by Sir Fred- 
eric Madden, seeks to render the exacft sense of the 
original, almost line for line. The Ancren Riwle, on 
the other hand, is turned into the copious and elegant 
English of the present day, and is more of a paraphrase 
than a mere translation. No doubt the spirit has been 
preserved, but the body is gone, and the good bishop 
who composed it would fail to recognize his own work 
in its new dress. The translator has evidently adopted 
Dry^den's rule in translating a foreign author, "to en- 
deavor to make him speak that kind of English which 
he would have spoken had he lived in England and 
had written in this age." 

Aside from their linguistic value, these archaic relics 
reveal that boldness of speech which still characflerizes 
their descendants the world over. The writers presum- 
ably exhibit the spirit of the people, as it was for them 
they wrote. They speak right out, and never resort to 
an euphemism in expressing their censure of abuses in 
church or state. Indeed, from the earliest specimens of 
our insular tongue it has been the language of free 
thought, and through all its historical vicissitudes its 
accents have been raised to the highest pitch against 
all forms of oppression. lyiberty was a difficult word 
under the settled governments across the channel. It 
was never pronounced willingly at that epoch, and only 
heard as a terrible secret, and whoever deliberated upon 
its maxims walked upon burning coals. 



CHAPTER IV. 

EARLY ENGLISH— 125C-1350. 



1. Early English, 1250-1350. 

2. Three Principal Dialects. 

3. Literature Begins with Po- 

etry. 

4. The Minstrels of this Period. 

5. Robert of Gloucester. His 

Works Described. 
Changes Made by Him in 
Early English. 

6. Robert Manning. His 

Works and Genius. He 
Stems the Tide of Norman- 
French Innovations. His 
Influence Upon Our Lan- 
guage. 

7. Cursor Mundi and Genesis 

and Exodus. Paraphras- 
ing Bible Stories into Early 
English. 

8. TheOrmulum. An Attempt 

to Settle Orthography. 

9. The Ay enbite of In wit. The 

Southern Dialect. 

10. Mediaeval Saintship. Its 

Effect on Early English. 
Written in the Popular 
Speech. 

11. Early English Alliterative 

Poems. 

12. The Hermit of Hampole. 

Sketch of His Life and 
Works. His Use of Saxon 
Terms in Preaching. 

13. Moral and Religious Pieces. 



14. The Arthur Romances. The 

Series of the Round Table 
Recounted. Their Influ- 
ence on Modern Litera- 
ture. 

15. Hugh of the Royal Palace. 

He Drops the Saxon In- 
flexions. 

16. Walter Mapes. 

17. Merlin, the Wizard. 

18. Sir Thomas Malory. 

19. William of Parlerne. Gram- 

matical Anomalies. 

20. Havelok, the Dane. Fluct- 

uating Forms of Speech. 

21. King Horn. Midland 

Forms. 

22. Life of Alexander. The 

Commencement of Nor- 
man-French. 

23. The Geste Historial. Drop- 

ping Inflexions. History 
of Troy, the Ancient Town. 

24. Roger Bacon. 

25. Henry Bractou. 

26. Duns Scotus. 

27. William Occam and the 

Schoolmen. The Words 
Contributed Still in Use. 

28. Changes and Improvements 

in the Transition from 
Semi-Saxon to Early Eng- 
lish. 



We now pass to the chronological division of our 
language commonly called "Early English," during 
which the Normans began to adopt the speech of their 
vassals, and the latter were gradually ingrafting Nor- 



BEGINNING OF EARLY ENGLISH. /I 

man terms upon our Anglo-Saxon stem. Many words 
now make their appearance in Knglish compositions 
that bear p^'ijna facie evidence upon their face of having 
descended from the old French, or from the lexicon in 
which the Conqueror uttered his commands on the field 
of Hastings. The corruption of the Anglo-Norman 
tongue had proceeded from the beginning of the cen- 
tury (13th), and the influence of English authors was 
making itself strongly felt upon the foreign element. 
Perhaps the native writers had stripped this early Eng- 
lish too bare of grammatical machinery and philological 
aids to thought ; it was nevertheless distinguished by its 
energetic eloquence, and by a nicety of observation and 
a correctness of thought and expression, by which it 
gained an unparalleled victory over the church Latin 
and the court French, and has held it firmly ever since. 
The Semi-Saxon extended probably from 11 50 to 
1250, just one hundred years; and the term Early 
English is applied from the last date to the next suc- 
ceeding century, ending in 1350. It is, of course, 
impossible to establish a sharp line of separation 
between the different periods of English, for they melt 
into each other like the colors of the rainbow. For 
instance, the Genesis and Exodus (to be referred to 
presently), which marks the beginning of early Eng- 
lish, is in a vocabulary almost exclusively Semi-Saxon ; 
but the myriad specimens of authorship belonging to 
the former, assume an appearance quite modern. 
These texts have been slumbering in forgotten tomes 
for ages, and are now rejuvenated by the research and 
taste of the collaborators of the Early English Text 
Society, and published with commentaries and glos- 



72 BEGINNING OF EARI.Y KNGlylSH. 

saries, to elucidate their obscurities, A great many of 
the manuscripts have been placed in the British Museum 
for preservation ; but the university and cathedral libra- 
ries in every part of the kingdom, as well as many 
private collections, teem with these literary and histor- 
ical treasures. It was a period of more intellectual 
work than we have usually attributed to that remote 
age, and we owe a deep debt of gratitude to the emi- 
nent men and scholars by whose labors the fathers of 
our ancient literature once more emerge out of the 
gloom of centuries, arrayed in their antique phraseol- 
ogy and lifting the curtain upon the mailed knights, 
the feats of arms, the lovely maidens, and all the splen- 
dors of a gorgeous chivalry. One can almost imagine a 
poetic fulfillment in this historical perspective of the 
grand old prophecy, that King Arthur would return 
from the vale of Avalon, with his mighty excalibar, for 
the deliverance and glory of his people. 

At the commencement of Barly English, the language 
was still laboring under the disadvantage of confused 
inflexions and a syntax singularly irregular. It had 
grown slowly and was still in a state of progress ; it is, 
however, allowable to say that it was at length brought 
into something like definite shape. The phonetic 
meaning of the letters seems to have been understood. 
The orthography in the Semi- Saxon writings is very 
fludluating, and it would be in vain to try to extradl any 
rule of phonetic conformity from their remains. That 
profound scholar, Mr. Ellis, is able only to point out 
some of the more striking anomalies, which he can ascribe 
alone to scribal errors. 

It was not until the dawn of Early English that we 



THE THREE DIALECTS OF EARLY ENGLISH. 73 

have any example of the application of the purely phonetic 
principle to the orthography of our speech. Man}^ of its 
forms had then become fixed and permanent ; its 
variations and discordances were greatly reduced so 
that it was pervaded by three great dialedls, that can be 
traced with certainty as belonging to the South, the 
Midland, and the North. 

Dr. Richard Morris in his preface to the Early Alliter- 
ative Poems, afiirms the existence of these three distin(5l 
forms of speech, or as they are sometimes designated, West 
Saxon, Mercian, and Northumbrian; and he observes 
that, ' * there is perhaps no better test for distinguishing 
these dialec5ls from one another, than the verbal inflex- 
ions of the plural number in the present tense, indicative 
mode. To state this test in the briefest manner, we 
may say that the Southern dialecft employs eth, the Mid- 
land, en, and the Northumbrian, es, as the inflexion for 
all persons of the plural." This rule can be illustrated 
by taking the plural of the verb, to hope, in the present 
indicative, as follows : 



Southern. 


Midland. 


Northumbrian. 


1st per.— W^^ hopeth 


Hopen 


Hopes 


2d per.— Ye hopeth 


Hopen 


Hopes 


3d per. — They hopeth 


Hopen 


Hopes 



Each of these idioms had a local charac5ler with its own 
prescriptive forms, and an observance of these niceties 
constituted the distincftion between the writings of the 
respective localities, more than a compliance with any 
literary standard. Indeed, there was yet no general 
literary language recognized among authors, nor was it 
until after the introdudlion of the printing press, during 
the following century, that the Midland as spoken at 



74 POETICAL COMPOSITIONS THE FIRST LITERATURE. 

the universities and in London gained the ascendency 
and became the universal language of English literature. 
Each writer natural^ depended upon the diale(5l with 
which he was most familiar ; but the scribes who subse- 
quently copied his works not infrequently belonged to 
the domain of a different diale(5l, which they mixed up 
with that of the text, so that in manuscripts that have 
been subjecfled to this incongruous manipulation it is 
sometimes difficult to discriminate the one in which it 
was originally written. A series of perplexities have in 
this manner been bequeathed to the antiquarian who 
would pry into those ancient records. In fadl, it requires 
unusual research and much patience to examine and 
decide upon a fair proportion of these anomalies. 

The literary remains of Early English that have 
reached us are nearly all in the form of poetical compo- 
sitions, many of them being translations from the French, 
and some from the Latin. It has often been noticed 
that poetry is the first accent of literature. 

We learn from Aristotle that before the invention of 
letters the laws were set to music, and that among the 
ancient Greeks the same word was used to designate a 
song and a law. Solon, who was a poet as well as a 
legislator, wrote his treatise upon government in verse, 
as a supplement to his laws. Those of Lycurgus were 
left in both prose and verse, so that things apparently 
the most opposed were preserved in poetry. We know 
that among the Celts and Saxons the bards were the 
companions of princes, the counselors of kings; that 
they were admitted to their feasts, partook of their 
deliberations, and recalled them to the exercise of moder- 
ation and justice. They sang of love, glory, valor, and 



minstre:i.s and ancient bards. 75 

were nearly the only teachers of popular morality. 
The ancient scalds of Scandinavia presided at all relig- 
ious and sacred mysteries, related the adventures of the 
gods, and celebrated the achievements of their princes 
and heroes. All the Gothic tribes were imbued with a 
like reverence* for their bards. They were almost 
divine persons among the Celts. Their curse was 
dreaded and their blessing implored. The songs of 
their ancestors were preserv^ed in the memor}^ of one 
generation of reciters after another. Indeed, we still 
refer back to this early poetry for a knowledge of the 
period when the North and the West of Europe were 
involved in barbarism. We are also aware that the 
Angles and Saxons, long before they pushed their pred- 
atory ravages across the German Ocean, had their war 
songs like other savage tribes, and there can scarcely 
be a doubt but that on their arrival under Hengist and 
Horsa they had an abundant supply of those who could 
sing the battles they might fight and the victories they 
expected to win. Even their greatest chieftains were 
proud of this accomplishment. Alfred the Great was 
a harper, and in that character gained admission to the 
Danish camp, where he acquired such knowledge of 
their condition as enabled him at a subsequent day to 
completely destroy them. The minstrel was a privi- 
leged character among the Normans, and he was usu- 
ally an ofiicer in their palaces. Indeed, heroic poems 
are the earliest monuments of Norman literature. 
While William the Bastard was only Duke of Nor- 
mandy, not a few of his warriors were equally distin- 
guished as trouveres as for martial deeds. One of 
these, named Taillefer, was permitted to begin the onset 



jd MINSTRKI.S AND ANCIENT BARDS. 

at the battle of Hastings, and mounting his horse, he 
rushed with his comrades upon the English, singing the 
praises of Charlemagne and Roland. The same ances- 
tral spirit animated the Normans after the conquest, 
and the minstrel art was raised to an eminence of pol- 
ished regularity never before attained. A hundred 
years after that event, Richard Coeur de Lion, whose 
career is so full of romance, was himself a royal trouba- 
dour, and his constant companion and best friend was 
a minstrel. When the rhyming poets, like lyayamon, 
began to write history, the minstrel was at the height 
of popularity. He was the joy of private life, and an 
honored guest at the gatherings of the people. He not 
only recited history and painted its passions, but he 
inspired a taste for domestic virtue among the humble 
and the powerless. It was in verse that he expressed 
counsels, consolations, or reproaches, as they were 
needed ; and related the w^onderful stories of adventure 
with "Giants and Dragons, and Witches and En- 
chanters," in which his simple-minded listeners thor- 
oughly believed. When writing was resorted to, 
instead of singing, it is not surprising that verse was 
nearly the only medium used by those wishing to 
address the public in the new language, or in which to 
express their ideas and sentiments. Accordingly, we 
j&nd the Brut of Lyayamon was in the form of a poem — 
the last strain in broken Saxon ; while the first produc- 
tion in Early English is a striking example of the same 
metrical tendency — the Rhyming Chronicle of Robert of 
Gloucester. This latter is a history of England, having 
for its prototype the Brut of Eayamon, introducing 
fables and legends quite as marvelous as those of the 



ROBERT OF GLOUCESTER. 77 

old friar, not forgetting the wanderings of ^neas, and 
the settlement of the Trojans on the British shore. The 
difference in time between the two poems is about sev- 
enty 3^ears ; but the English of the former has to be 
studied almost in the same manner as we study Greek 
or Latin, for without notes or translations we can but 
guess at its meaning ; while the English of the Chron- 
icle can be read with the occasional aid of the glossary. 
The following description of England, by Robert of 
Gloucester, is considered an average specimen of his style: 

In the contre of Canterbury mest plente of fysch ys, 

And mest chase aboute Salesburi of wylde bestes y wys, 

At Ivondon schippes mest, & wyn at Wyncestre, 

At Herford schep and orf, & fruyt at Wircestre, 

Sope aboute Couyntre, yrn at Gloucestre. 

Metel, as led and tin, in the contre of Excestre, 

Euerwdk of fairest wood, Lyncolne of fayrest men, 

Grantebrugge and Hontyndone mest plente of dup fen, 

Ely of fairest place, of fairest sigte Roucestre, 

Euene ageyn Frannce stond the contre of Chichestre, 

Norwiche ageyn Denemarc, Chestre ageyn Yelond, 

Duram ageyn Norwei, as ich onderstonde, 

Three wondres ther beth in Engolonde, none more y, not 

That water of Bath ys that on, that euer ys yliche hot. . . 

Upon the ple)^ of Salesbury that other wonder ys. 

That Stonhyngel ys yclepud, no more wonder nys 

* * "^ * The thirdde wonder ys 

Up the hul of the pek, north wynd ther y wys. 

Out of the erthe oft cometh, of holes as yt were, 

And bloweth vp of thilke holes, so that yt wolde a rere. 

And bere vp grete clothes, gef heo were ther ney. 

And blowe hem here and there vpon the lofte on hey. 

(English Language, Marsh, p. 232.) 

At least twelve per cent, of the words in Eayamon 
are obsolete ; but this is a common source of embarrass- 



^S HIS IMPROVKMKNTS IN THB IvANGUAGE. 

ment in all ancient authors, and even in Shakespeare 
the loss is considerable; while the alteration in their 
meaning requires a distinction to be made in a still 
larger number, for words are seldom permitted to 
remain at rest, and our language has allowed great 
scope for changing their orthography and signification. 
Thus, in Layamon the words look like those of an 
unknown tongue, while in the Chronicle of Gloucester 
they assume a somewhat familiar aspect. The lan- 
guage of the Chronicle is also enriched by an infusion 
of Romance v/ords. The verse of the former is as rough 
as if it were prose, and the orthography is so unsteady 
that the pronunciation is impossible by any phonetic 
standard. The intermixture of the French in the latter, 
being estimated at four or five per cent., and the mere 
vestiges of Anglo-Saxon inflexions which remain show 
hov/ great a displacement the old tongue had suffered. 

Robert of Gloucester expresses the genitive case b}^ 
what we call the possessive '5, as " Kngelonde's ende," 
" Monne's blod." For the singular and plural of nouns 
he uses s, es, and en. The comparison of adjectives is 
found in er and es^, as /^>'r, fairest, dropping the old 
forms of gender and number. The use of the definite 
article, the, is invariable throughout to distinguish par- 
ticular objects with precision, as, ''the pleyn of Sales- 
bury " ; " the contre of Canterbury. ' ' The case endings 
are mostly dropped out, and their appearance is only 
exceptional ; prepositions are introduced to denote the 
relations that the genitive, dative, accusative, and abla- 
tive expressed in the Anglo-Saxon and I^atin. 

There is a difficulty inherent in pointing out the 
dependence of time, place, and manner by a great vari- 



FROM I.AYAMON TO ROBERT OF GI.OUCFSTFR. 79 

ety of terminations ; and in admitting the free use of 
prepositions and auxiliaries in their stead, the language 
is much simplified ; and if thereby it has lost anything 
in fiexibilit}^ it has probably gained a distinctness in 
punctuating the object, or the idea intended to be 
expressed. These inflexional changes entered into the 
structure of Early English, and are of vital importance 
to the language. 

The changes that had gradually taken place during 
this interval of seventy years are conspicuous. The 
Semi-Saxon of Layamon and the Early English of Rob- 
ert of Gloucester, are as dissimilar from each other as 
any two dialects can well be that have the same remote 
original. This difference consists largely in the matter 
of orthography, and \ve perceive in the latter a tend- 
ency to the modern standard. The permanent form of 
the definite article and its separation from the accidents 
of person, number, and gender; the substitution of a 
final s for all forms of plural nouns ; the emancipation 
of pronouns from their Anglo-Saxon fetters, and of 
adjectives from all forms of declension except those of 
comparison; some important changes in the verb and 
the participle, and the application of gender to the real 
or natural sex, mark the difference between the two 
periods in the development of our language. The 
process has been compared by an eminent writer (Keane) 
to that which exists between the operation of taking 
down an old, tottering edifice and that of renewing it. 
Semi-Saxon corresponds to the process of breaking up ; 
the period we have now reached (Early English) that of 
rebuilding. These have, therefore, been called respect- 
ively periods of dissolution and of reconstruction. 



8o ROBERT MANNING. 

The first part of Gloucester's Chronicle is a recital of 
traditions, taken from the stupendous fabrication of 
Geoffroy of Monmouth, but in the latter part he describes 
his own observations during the reign of Edward I. 
(1272- 1 307), whose genius for government and war has 
never been surpassed by any English monarch. The 
work is, therefore, important, as it is probably the first 
attempt in Early English to develop a truthful narration 
of passing events. His style is simple and devoid of 
art. The time had not come when purity of language 
was considered the glory of literature, and authors felt 
themselves free to create such forms as they needed, 
and when these forms rendered what they had to say 
this was the only success to which they aspired. 

Gloucester's style is dry, without ornament, figures, 
or pathos. There are no fine discriminations or judi- 
cious refle(?tions, as in modern writings. Yet his 
Chronicle is valuable for its knowledge of English history, 
and as an exponent of our early philology. To the 
same author is ascribed a colledlion of the lives of the 
saints, but as it is essentially the same in its vocabulary 
no further illustration is necessary. 

Another, and perhaps the last of these rhyming 
chronicles, of which Robert Manning was the author, 
appeared thirty years later (1338). He is usually called 
Robert of Brunne, probably from what he says of himself 
in the prologue : 

Of Brunne I am, if any me blame 
Robert Mannyng is my name. 
In the thrid Edward's tyme was, I 
When I wrote alle this story. 

It will be seen from these four lines that the Anglicizing 



HIS USE OF ROMANCE WORDS. 



8i 



process is apparent in nearly all the terms that compose 
them. He discards the complicated forms of the Anglo- 
Saxon personal pronoun in the singular number, for /, 
me, and my. The Saxon demonstrative was flexed by a 
grammatical vagary from se into tham and thcBte, but in 
the last line it becomes this, as in modern English, 
Throughout his work he generally uses they in the 
nominative, and their in the possessive plural. In regard 
to the verb, in the third person singular of the present 
indicative, the verbal ending was th of his dialedl 
(Northern) , but Brunne employed a terminal s, so that 
loveth becomes loves. An illustration of this occurs in 
the same prologue, where he states that he will relate 
the history of England : 

And fro Eneas tille Brutus tyme, 
That kynde he telles in this ryme. 

Now by eliding the letter e before the final 5 in telles we 
have a perfecftly familiar word. These differences mark 
a distinguishing advance from Robert of Gloucester. 
It will also be seen in the last line that the strong verb, 
write, becomes wrote in the imperfecft by a vowel change 
in the stem, and that the neuter verb, to be, appears in 
its present form of am, is, and was. 

The genius of Robert of Brunne had not been per- 
verted by the constant influence of Eatin, although it 
had always been the language of the church, and he 
was a canon of the Gilbertine order. In his works are 
found a greater number of Romance words than in those of 
any previous author, yet there can be but little doubt of 
the fa(5l that they had all entered into the people's 
diale(5l and had become inseparable from it. He seems 
to be inspired by a healthy national instin<fl, for he is 
6 



82 HE WROTE GOOD ENGLISH. 

always attra<5led by the vernacular dialedl , and charmed 
with the love of the common people. He writes only 

But for the luf of symple men 
That strange Inghs can not ken. 

And he complains of a prevailing style of such ' ' quainte 
Inglis, that many-one wate not what it is." This prob- 
ably refers to a neo- Latin, neo- French kind of literature, 
that sprang up under the pen of the few schoolmen v/ho 
still lingered in the traditions of their empty pedantry. 
It is, therefore, not improbable that Brunne imitated the 
popular diale(5l of his day, and that his words are only 
those which the people used to express their ideas in 
conversation. This is an excellent reason for the belief 
that Anglo-Norman was already an important element 
in ordinary speech, which would justify the license of the 
poet in resorting to words in common usage. 

According to Mr. Marsh, the rhyming history of 
Robert of Brunne is the last produdlion in the stage of 
Early English, and there are philologists who consider 
him as the first in date who wrote well-defined English, 
However this may be, his English is not so clear now 
that he who runs may read ; yet his devotion in using 
his native tongue was an effective precursor of the en- 
thusiasm v/ith which it was cultivated in the following 
stage of its division, especially when Chaucer touched 
it for a moment with the Promethean fire of his genius. 

His chronicle, like many other produdlions of the 
age, was a translation from the French in two parts, 
lyike Layamon, he took the first part from the Brut of 
Wace, and the second from the Anglo-Norman chronicle 
of Peter de Langtoft (1307). He enlarged it a good 
deal with original matter, and brought the narrative 



ROBERT OF BRUNNK. 83 

down to the death of Edward the First (1307). It has 
been published twice, first in 1725, and again in 1810. 
It is thought by many that his style is superior to that 
of his master, Robert of Gloucester ; but it owes as little 
to imagination as that of the previous chronicle. He 
never rises above a description of details, and exercises 
no perception of the impersonality that belongs to moral 
life, or the sentiments that spring up from the intimate 
feelings of the soul. We shall, however, come to this 
idealism before another century passes away. 

"There's a midnight darkness changing into grey, 
Men of thought, men of action, clear the way." 

Among the works of Manning is one at the head of 
which he places the cheerless title, ' ' Handlynge Synne, ' ' 
an awful menace to the wicked. He began his transla- 
tion in 1303. The work was composed in French by an 
English priest named William of Waddington. Per- 
haps he had no other ambition than to render his model 
into current English ; but he was more of a poet himself 
than to be a simple interpreter, and he put the mark of 
his own genius upon the work. He omits whole pas- 
sages and substitutes verses of his own invention, 
making it richer in narrations and episodes taken from 
ordinary life. He is condemned by some historians of 
English literature for his simplicity and want of imag- 
ination ; but we ought to bear in mind that he wrote for 
the multitude that which they could comprehend and 
remember. We are not permitted to treat his work 
according to the rules of ordinary criticism, for aside 
from literary merit we must take into account the effecfls 
which his writings produced and still produce upon the 
English language. It is remarkable that Manning, 



84 ROBERT OF BRUNNK. 

notwithstanding his homely style, seems to command 
greater respedl, after an eclipse of more than five 
centuries, than any other writer of his age. Such is 
the judgment of Mr. Oliphant, who has made Early 
English a profound study, and who affirms that Man- 
ning was the first to stem the Anglo-Norman tide that 
was rapidly sweeping away large portions of the old 
vocabulary. 

Alterations occur in all languages, and they often 
serve the purposes or the taste of authors. The ancient 
forms were giving way before a torrent of innovation. 
The purity and abundance of Anglo-Saxon terms 
were losing ground, and writers became free to replace 
them by pilgrim words from beyond the channel. 
The genius of our language in assimilating words from 
many sources besides the French and Latin, has aug- 
mented the richness of our tongue, and has been a 
marked feature in all the great ages of our literature. 
It is not true, however, that we can safely rejedl our 
own expressive rudiments and seek to supply them by 
words of foreign origin. This was the danger in the 
days of Manning, and he set the example of appropri- 
ating only such ample and majestic terms from the 
Norman as were already naturalized, and such as were 
interchangeable with those inherited from the old German 
stock. He had neither the leisure nor the taste to com- 
pose heroic pieces for the delight and praise of the 
higher ranks. His pieces were destined for the edifica- 
tion and pleasure of the people, and they were uniformly 
composed in the vernacular, and he found it, as we still 
find it, ample enough to express with correal ness and 
clearness the operations of the mind as well as the 



ROBE^RT OF BRUNNE. 85 

emotions of the heart. In Handlynge Synne, about ten 
words in a hundred are of French and I^atin origin. 
Here is a passage from the beginning of the book just 
described, which gives an idea of the man, where he has 
lived and labored, and the exact year of the work : 

To alle Cry sty n men undir sunne, 

And to gode men of Brunne, 

And special! all bi name 

The felanshepe of Symthrynghame, 

Robert of Brunne greteth you 

In al gudenesse that may to prow. 

Of Brymwahe yn Kestevene 

Syxe myle besyde Sympryngham evene 

Y dwellede yn the pryorye 

Fyflene yere yn companye. 

Dane Felyp was mayster that tyme 

That I began thys Englyssh ryme, 

The yeres of grace fyl than to be 

A thousynd and thre hundrede and thre, 

In that time turnede y thys 

On Englyhsshe tung out of Frankys, 

Of a boke as y fonde ynne ; 

Men clepyn the boke "Handlynge Synne." 

The Cursor Mundi, or Course of the World, belongs 
to the Early English period. It extends to 29,546 lines 
in rhyme, describing the making of the world and the 
Bible stories from Noah downward. It is in the North- 
em dialect, and presents many pleasing specimens of 
versification. Perhaps a still earlier version of the Old 
Testament is the story of Genesis and Exodus, in 4165 
verses of eight syllables each, rhyming in couplets, but 
the metre admits of occasional lines of seven syllables. 
At the middle of the story the unknown author makes 



86 



CURSOR MUNDI. 



the usual excuse for using the profane vernacular on a 
sacred subject. The poet says : 

An her endede to ful, in wis 

"Se boc'Se is hoten genesis 

"Se moyses "Sury godes red 

Wrot for lefiful soules ned. 

God schilde hise sowle fro helle bale 

"Se made it ^us on engel tale ; 

And he "Sat "Sise lettres wrot 

God him helpe welimot 

And berge is sowle fro forge & grot 

Of helle pine, cold & hot. 

Which is translated by Mr. Morris, who edited the 
book for the Early English Text Society, into the fol- 
lowing paraphrase : 

And here ended completely 

The book which is called Genesis, 

Which Moses, through God's help, 

Wrote for precious souls' need. 

God shield his soul from hell bale 

Who made of this an English tale. 

And he that these letters wrote. 

May God help him blissfully 

And preserve his soul from sorrow and tears, 

Of hell pain, cold and hot. 

The Genesis and Exodus is a variety of the Midland 
speech, and probably of that spoken in the eastern 
counties of England. The character, 'S, which repre- 
sents, dk, in the Anglo-Saxon alphabet, here stands for 
tk ; the plural of nouns is formed by adding es to the 
singular, and the names of inanimate objects are in the 
neuter gender. Adjectives and pronouns are still fet- 



Gen:ESis and :^xodus. 87 

tered by the Anglo-Saxon declensions; but the regular 
verbs are regularly declined, as : 

Singular. Plural. 

/ love We loven 

Thou lovest You loven 

He or she loveth They loven 

Mr. Earle calls attention to the circumstance that it 
is in this poem that v/e find the rudimentar}^ form of the 
auxiliary ^^a// declined. Singular, sal, salt; plural, sulen, 
and the remarkable feature of he for the Anglo-Saxon 
hi, equivalent to the modem they. 

The authors of the two works just mentioned are 
unknown, for they have left no name upon their works. 
We may, however, reasonably suppose that their lan- 
guage approached more closely to the ordinar\^ speech 
of the people than did that of either history or romance. 
The Bible itself was denied to the masses in their own 
dialecl ; but the broad simplicit}^ and universal utter- 
ances of Hebrew intelligence and inspiration were 
proffered them in writings such as these, not, to be sure, 
by the hand of divine inspiration, but by mere human 
genius in the form of poetic truth. It was from the 
Book of books that these authors drew their earnest 
thought, their profound convicftions, their homely wis- 
dom, and their marvelous self-restraint. They revealed, 
as it were, to the laity the marvels and graphic passages 
of the Scriptures; the creation of the angels, the rebel- 
lion of Satan, the fall of man, the shame of Eden; the 
story of Jacob and Esau, of Abraham and Joseph, of 
Solomon and David; the flight into Egypt, and the 
destrudlion of the doomed cities. So, also, the annals of 
the New Testament were manifested to the piety of the 



88 WRITINGS OF 13TH AND I4TH CKNTURIEJS. 

age; such as feeding the multitude, walking on the 
waters, stilling the storm. The conversion of St. Paul, 
the temptation, and the crucifixion became in this way 
subjecfls of general intelligence, and raised the thoughts 
of men to the contemplation of superior and heavenly 
things. More from this sacred source than from any 
other these authors derived their inspirations. From 
the poetical and legendary passages of the Scriptures 
they drew the sublime episodes and the mystical shadows 
that became marvelously definite in their descriptions. 
They clearly display poetical talent. Says Sir Frederick 
Madden: "The delineation of the seasons, the sweet- 
ness of summer and the bitterness of winter ; the awful 
tempest that preceded the destrudlion of Sodom and 
Gomorrah, and the sea storm occasioned by the wicked- 
ness of Jonas, are quite equal to any similar passage in 
much later poets." 

A very great number of religious treatises were 
written during the 13th and 14th centuries, but perhaps 
the two just described are among the most valuable 
monuments of our language, as they were composed for 
the common and unlettered people, who knew no other 
tongue than that of their forefathers, and who clung 
tenaciously to it amidst all their trials and oppressions. 
But through this immense mass of English words there 
runs a small rill of Norman- French, amounting, perhaps, 
to four or five in the hundred. It is the beginning of 
that great stream which will commingle with its rival 
dialedt, and ultimately unite with it in the common 
estuary of the English language. 

I have already mentioned the Ormulum. It is very 
singularly composed in a Northern diale(5l, strongly 



THE^ ORMUI<UM. 89 

marked by a Danish origin. The prac5lice of doubling 
the consonants has been referred to, and the studied 
regard of the author for uniformity in this repetition is 
remarkable. There is no rule of this kind in any other 
author, and no other has imitated the example. What- 
ever were his views, it is not necessary to conjedlure, as 
the work has fallen into disrepute from the very facft 
that he probably thought would preserve it. He uses 
two consonants in the beginning and end of a word, and 
some writers have supposed they were placed at the end 
of a word to denote a short syllable or a long one, but it 
is not very clear which. As to the poem itself, it is a 
sort of paraphrase of portions of the Old Testament. It 
has been pronounced a fine composition aside from its 
consonantal affecftations, and displays a good knowledge 
of the Danish element. We find Midland and Southern 
forms blending their softer vowel sounds with the harsh- 
ness of the North. It is thought the author intended to 
conform the language to a general phonetic standard 
and to leave an example of it to the future ; but if this 
were his hope it has not been realized, for of all his 
contemporaries he is the least regarded as an authority 
upon the state of the tongue at the time he wrote. 

These three works represent the Northern and Mid- 
land dialecfls respecftively. I next call attention to a 
produ(5lion in the Southern diale(5l called ' ' The Ayenbite 
of Inwit," which means Again-bite of Conscience, or 
Remorse. It is a translation by Dan Michel, of North- 
gate, of a French treatise, "Z<? So^nme des Vices et des 
Vertues.^^ It is filled with theological discussions, and 
among them is the problem of good and evil. Conscience 
sweeps over man's nature and obliges him in some 



90 THK AYKNBII^K OF INWIT. 

degree to bow to its authority. It restrains him from 
vice, quickens remorse, and often recalls to well-doing 
those who are insensible to the claims of virtue; and 
any person who is entirely wanting in this faculty is 
regarded as an imperfecfl instance of human nature. 

But it is not with the dogmas of the author that we 
are now concerned, so much as with those peculiarities of 
his dialec5l which are not common to the other two. I 
suppose we have here a pretty clear view of the Kentish 
speech as it was written about 1340, the date of the 
treatise. The adverbs retain the older inflexions ending 
in lick, singular, and licke, plural. These endings in 
the Northumbrian were represented by lie (lik) and ly. 
To this we trace the adverbial form likely. V for f, 
2- for s, ^ for V, and for a are Southern. In the pret- 
erite of strong verbs e takes the place of «, as brek, 
Southern, for brak, Northern. The Southern has a 
great variety of pronominal forms, as ha for he; hi, 
ho, heo, hire for she; hine for him; hi, hie, heo, hue for 
they ; heo, here, hire, hore, heore, huere for their ; hem, 
horn, heom, heam for them; his, hire, hs iox her; ure ior 
ours; eower for yours. We derive our pronouns from 
the Northern diale(5l, in which these forms, or at least 
most of them, are unknown (E. K. T. S. edition, edited 
by Dr. Morris) . 

It will be observed from this summary that the 
adverbs are declined like nouns, and that the numbers 
and genders of pronouns in the oblique cases cannot be 
determined by their form, but must be traced back to 
their substantives. Of the three great diale(5ls, it is gen- 
erally conceded that the Northern had reached a gram- 
matical struc5lure not attained by those further south. 



MKDIi^VAI, SAINTSHIP. 9 1 

The same age that produced the Crusades an d chiv- 
alry also produced mediaeval saintship, or rather en- 
larged it into a central figure of society and religion. 
Indeed, there is a certain class of compositions over 
which Early English presides with jealous supremacy. 
These relate to the festivals of the church, Sunday les- 
sons, the life of Christ, and the histories which describe 
the labors of the saints and celebrate their glory. Long 
before this period, ^Ifric (A. D. 1008) tells of the saints 
revered in the Anglo-Saxon church, and contempora- 
neously with Shakespeare (1610) there appeared a 
coUedlion of woman saints of ' ' our Countrie of Eng- 
land," by an unknown author, in language quite as 
modern as that of the great dramatist. It would not be 
easy to give any conception of the immense number and 
variety of these rhyming legends and allegories, or of 
the interminable relations of miracles with which they 
abound. They are all stamped with the same religious 
charadler and the same marvelous accounts. The faith- 
ful visit the tomb of the martyr with tears of grief in 
their eyes, and depart with joy in their hearts. The 
possessed are delivered of evil spirits, the mother obtains 
health for her child, and the wife salvation for her hus- 
band. The private life of the saint is lost in the vast 
exuberance of his miraculous deeds. He heals the 
sick, and brings the dead back to life ; he stamps his 
staff on the sands of the desert and a well of pure water 
flows forth. Many of the legends are as grotesque as if 
composed b}^ Rabelais, and impregnate the verse with 
the air of burlesque. St. Lucy continued to preach after 
her throat was cut ; Theophilus got back a deed of 
covenant he had made with the devil ; the head of St. 



92 Ml^DI^VAI, SAINTSHIP. 

Edmund spoke after it was cut off, and St. Bride blessed 
a glass of cold water and it became ale. Mediaeval 
saintship was universal. They were the protec^lors of 
cities and large towns, and brought blessings upon the 
localities where their lives were celebrated. Every craft 
and profession had its patron saint, who was distin- 
guished by popular festivals in his honor. On these 
occasions his legend was recited, and the mixture of his- 
tory and fable in the native dialedl delighted the rude 
simplicity of the times. 

Now whatever we may think of the stage of civiliza- 
tion in which this phenomenon appeared, it would be 
difficult to overestimate how much we are indebted to 
these homely but popular histories for the preservation 
of our language. The art of composition in the vernac- 
ular was almost lost. French was the language of public 
documents. It was spoken in the court of the sovereign 
and in the courts of law, as well as by the lords of the 
soil and their retainers. But the class for whom these 
legends were written spoke English exclusively. The 
authors were learned, clear-headed churchmen, who 
wrote for the spiritual welfare of the humbler members 
in their own tongue ; and I think it may be truly affirmed 
that they were most powerful auxiliaries in strength- 
ening the popular language. They were composed in 
the terms in which the people thought, and spoke, and 
prayed, by men who were acquainted with the sensational 
expressions of the world. If their wisdom was occasion- 
ally dashed with grossness and puerility, let us remem- 
ber that the}^ were the dauntless friends of the poor, 
and the indefatigable writers of plain English in the 
early stage of our language, when no one outside 



THE HERMIT OF HAMPOIvE. 93 

of the cloister would or dared to use its unmellowed 
forms. 

There is a vast number of miscellaneous compositions, 
in the form of legends and homilies in the various 
dialedts of the mother tongue, belonging to the period 
of which we have been speaking. I can only call atten- 
tion to them in the briefest manner. A volume of 
' ' Early English Alliterative Poems ' ' has been edited 
from a manuscript in the British Museum, by Richard 
Morris. They consist of three pieces. The first, called 
" The Pearl," is a dream of a lost child seen in heaven 
by its father ; the second is a colledlion of Biblical 
stories, and the third is a paraphrase of the Book of 
Jonah. Upon examination of these pieces, it is found 
that the plural of nouns generally ends in es ; that the 
names of inanimate things are in the neuter gender, the 
comparative ends in er, and the superlative in est^ as 
in modern English. The auxiliary shall, is schal, 
scholde and schuld\ and wille and wolde are getting 
ready for their present forms, while the neuter verb, 
to be, requires but little change to bring it to its cur- 
rent grammatical conjugation. The language is grad- 
ually working its way, so to speak, to the simplicity 
of our own syntax, in the accidents of number, gender, 
and case. 

A writer who handled theological matters at this 
time was Richard Roll, known also as the Hermit of 
Hampole. If he was the author of all the treatises 
ascribed to him, his pen must have been the most pro- 
lific of the period. He crops out of his age as its most 
picturesque figure, by his reputation and eccentricities. 
At the age of nineteen he left Oxford, where he had 



94 '^HK HERMIT OF HAMPOIvE. 

pursued liis studies with great diligence, and returned 
home in a rapt and furious conviction of religious fervor. 
He persuaded his sister to meet him in a neighboring 
wood with two of her gowns, when, dispensing with his 
own clothes, he dressed himself in his sister's; and 
rushing abruptly away, left her in a state of amaze- 
ment, exclaiming that her brother was mad. Next day 
he entered a church, joined in the singing, and then 
mounting the pulpit began preaching with a quickened 
spirit, that burst upon his astonished hearers in a noble 
strain of Saxon eloquence. Retiring to a cell or hut, he 
passed his time alone in reading, writing, and meditation. 
Here he uttered his prayers, experienced a wild and 
convulsive devotion, strove in the dust with groans and 
lamentations ; and at intervals was visited with gleams 
of the beautiful visions that ecstatic tempers so often 
accredit to inspiration from on high. In speaking of 
himself in one of his Latin works, he says, "While this 
ardor burned sensibly, and with unspeakable sweetness, 
passed a half-year, three months, and some weeks, to 
the inflowing and perception of the celestial or spir- 
itual tune, which pertains to the eternal hymn of praise 
and to the sweetness of unearthly melody; since it 
cannot be produced or heard save by those who have 
received it, and such must be cleansed and with- 
drawn from the world. And while I was in the 
same chapel I heard a sound as of those playing 
the psaltery, or, rather, of those singing above 
me. And while I addressed myself with all long- 
ing in prayer to the heavenly ones, I knew not 
how, I felt in myself a wondrous concord, and re- 
ceived a most delicious harmony from heaven, which 



THE HKRMIT OF HAMPOLK. 95 

remained with me." And much more in the same 
vein. 

The common people, who were superficial observers 
of a pure worship of the soul, were carried away with 
Hampole's contempt for terrestrial distinctions, and 
came at last to believe that he possessed in his own 
person the power of healing the sick and restoring the 
dead back to life. He acquired the fame of a hermit 
and the sanctity of a saint. His books were in Latin 
and also in the vernacular, but when he went forth from 
his retirement to preach, as he often did, his sermons 
were in the popular language with few words of foreign 
extraction. It is highly probable that his congrega- 
tions were composed of the least informed and the best 
informed people in the neighborhood, for his fame was 
great, and perhaps it was increased from the fact that 
he was neither a priest nor a member of any religious 
order. It is to be borne in mind that a great change 
had taken place by the middle of the 14th century ; a 
new language had been formed and generally accepted 
by every class. His sermons were therefore constructed 
to edify all, and they had the merit of being accepted 
and understood by all. Indeed, it is the Saxon charac- 
ter of our language that is still the most suitable to 
every congregation. Many of the modern preachers 
who have exercised the greatest influence, spoke almost 
entirely in pure Saxon derivatives. John Bunyan and 
Knox, John Wesley and Whitfield, used but few words 
from any other source, and that noble discourse of 
the great Dr. Channing upon the evidences of Chris- 
tianity, is a monument to the simple majesty of 
Saxon English. The most difficult to please can find 



96 I^ITKRARY REMAINS OF KARI,Y KNGI.ISH. 

no fault with it, nor the most unlettered misunder- 
stand it. 

The best known among Hampole's works is a poem 
called **The Prick of Conscience," supposed to be an 
English version of a Latin original. It is in the North- 
umbrian dialect and does not by any means sustain the 
reputation he enjoyed among his contemporaries. His 
treatise of "The Virtue of the Hol}^ Name of Ihesu," 
affords, perhaps, a better specimen of the genuine style 
and diction of the Yorkshire Hermit : 

This es the name ^at es abowne all names ; name altherbeyeste, 
withowttene whilke no man hopes hele (salvation). This name es 
in myn ere heuenly sowne, in my mouthe honyfull swetness. 
Therefore ne wondyre J>ofe I luf >at name the whilke gyfFes comforthe 
to me in all angwys. I can noghte pray, I can ncghte hafe mynde 
bot sowmnande the name of Ihesu. I sauyre noghte joye that with 
Ihesu es not mengede. Whare-so I be, whare-so I sytt, what-so I 
doo, the mynde of the sanoyre of the name of Ihesu departis noghte 
fra my mynde. 

Besides these, a sequence of interesting specimens of 
a moral and religious character, in different dialects, 
have fortunately reached us, and they have been edited 
and collated with the original texts, and published with 
introductory notes and explanations, that are full of 
instruction and interest. The Proverbs of Hendying 
belong to this class, together with metrical versions of 
the Psalms; mass books in prose and verse, paternos- 
ters, creeds, hymns, short poems, devotional pieces, and 
homiletic treatises, constituting an immense body of 
Christian literature, that had passed out of sight and 
was almost forgotten until a few years ago. 

Not the least extraordinary among the literary 



LKGE:ndS of king ARTHUR. 97 

remains of Early English, are the romances in verse and 
prose. They are usually divided into two kinds, those 
that are based upon fable, and those which contain a 
mixture of fable and history. In none of the first class 
of these stories is Early English more completely shown 
to us than in the various legends of King Arthur and 
his knights, and none are of more importance or more 
valuable, from the variety and terseness of their vocab- 
ulary. Only those who are acquainted with these grand 
old stories in their vernacular form, can fully appreciate 
their rich Teutonic dialedl, their clear and simple 
English. The names of places, from Arthur's Seat at 
the Scottish capital, and from the Firth and the Clyde 
southward, and across the borders of Northumbria and 
Wales, besides many of the words themselves, are those 
most nearty related to old Cymric or Celtic speech ; and 
it is therefore probable that these tales retain the sub- 
stance and character of the pure Celtic traditions more 
completel}^ than any of the versions of the French 
originals. The fable had, quite likely, been handed 
down orally by the Cymric bards, and for centuries had 
been told at the gatherings of the people, over many a 
fireside, in the glens and upon the hillsides, by sea strand 
and river bank, before Geoffroy of Monmouth moulded 
it into his classic verse. Indeed, that wonderful fabri- 
cator pretends that he derives his history from an old 
book brought from Armorica, in the language of that 
country, which he translated into Eatin. We remember 
that the distridl of France, anciently known by that name 
but now called Brittany, was settled by a Celtic colony 
from England, when the latter was a Roman province, 
and was, therefore, connedled with the Cymric races on 

7 



98 THK CKIvTIC RACES. 

the island. This circumstance suggests a possibility of 
Geoffroy's literary treasure having come from that spot. 
But no such book has ever been discovered, and there 
can scarcely be a doubt but that it was a pure invention 
to give credit to his own work. He adopted the Celtic 
fragments of the story, and inspired their meager pro- 
portions in his poem, very much in the same way that 
James Macpherson has translated the poems of Ossian. 

We can refer back to the period when the western 
countries of Europe and round south as far as Sicily, 
were peopled by the Celtic races. We know that within 
the historic period they were displaced from the eastern 
borders of England by the Gothic eruptions spreading 
from the North, and painted in terrible colors by the 
historians. Their wars with the Celtic islanders were 
waged to extermination. There w^as no blending of 
blood, no fusion of speech, except a few words of 
Celtic origin, and some Celtic roots that have been 
lengthened by the addition of letters and syllables, and 
some that have been shortened by taking them away. 
The inhabitants were driven to the interior, and all 
traces of their civilization obliterated. These terrible 
conflidls furnished themes for romancing pens, and for 
song and story. Arthur fought with superhuman 
strength, battle after battle, until his followers were 
slain and he himself *'wondrously wounded." He 
gave his kingdom to the son of Cador, one of his mighty 
warriors, and then departed to the enchanted Isle of 
Avalon, where he was received by the ''fairest of 
maidens." 

The Arthur romances have continued to exercise an 
influence upon our language and literature ever since. 



THE ARTHUR ROMANCKS. 99 

As early as the 12th century Walter Mapes wove into 
its tissue the story of the Holy Graal, which is doubtless 
founded upon the legend of Joseph of Arithmates with 
Sir Galahad, who is the only one of Arthur's knights to 
whose pure eyes the sacred symbol will reveal its form 
of glory. The story of the Round Table is another type 
of the Arthur cycle, with Sir lyancelot, the gentlest and 
most courteous of "knights in hall," the sternest and 
bravest in ' ' press of battle. ' ' The ' ' Morte d' Arthur, ' ' by 
Hugh of the Royal Palace (1440), is a grand specimen 
of Early English, a grand romance in highly spirited 
Saxon words. The alliterative metre is strongly 
marked in this poem. The manuscript volume from 
which it is edited contains several poems of the Arthur 
type, as well as many other pieces both in English and 
I^atin. (No. 8, E. E.T. S.) A prose romance relat- 
ing to the same legends was compiled about the same 
time, "Merlin, or the Early History of King Arthur." 
And among the latest of the series was a collection of 
these tales by Sir Thomas Malory in the latter part of 
the 15th century, which was one of the first books 
printed by Caxton, who was informed by the author 
that he took it out of certain French books and rendered 
it into English. Great poets from that day to this have 
given metrical versions of these delightful tales. Spen- 
ser adopted Prince Arthur as the guardian of every 
excellence, and even Milton at one time is said to have 
thought of him for the subject of an epic, which, how- 
ever, he changed for "Paradise Lost." In his won- 
drous "Idylls of the King," which stands out beyond 
the whole mass of English verse, Tennyson, who moves 
the living lyre of England, has clothed the fable with 



lOO WILLIAM OF PALERNE. 

fresh beauty and in a poetic garment brilliant as the 
clustering blossoms of June. Indeed, Geoffroy of Mon- 
mouth set a strain in the life of humanity that is as fresh 
today as when he first touched it. The fable bears 
away the palm for stirring interest, and we can trace 
through all its extravagance the noble qualities and 
romantic character inherent in the Celtic race. 

Among the many romances that were composed by 
the Norman poets previous to the 12th century, may be 
placed that of William of Palerne and the Werwolf. 
The word werwolf means a man changed by magical 
art into the temporary form of a wolf. A Sicilian prince 
named William when a child had an uncle who sought 
his life. The werwolf removed him from the danger 
and placed the child in his den, where he was discovered 
by a cowherd and carried to Rome. The Emperor 
adopts him, educates him. Of course the Emperor has 
a beautiful daughter, who becomes enamored of Will- 
iam. The latter is sent about his business. He goes 
in quest of adventure, fights combats, kills monsters, 
and conquers his own kingdom according to regulation 
romance style, and at last marries the beautiful princess. 
This poem was translated at the command of Sir Hum- 
phrey de Bohan about 1350, as is supposed, for amuse- 
ment of the middle classes, to whom French was 
unknown. The versifier was not so particular as he 
might have been, for his work serves to show the shat- 
tered condition of English syntax. The use of the 
present tense for the past one not infrequently occurs, 
as askes, for asked, arise for arose, here for bore ; and 
the singular for plural nouns, in the instance of dale for 
dates, dede for dedes, burgiye for burgeyes. These 



HAviiivOCK the; DANEJ. tol 

grammatical anomalies may have been authorized by 
usage, but thej^ are known at present only among the 
illiterate classes in familiar conversation. 

The Lay of Havelock the Dane is of a date not later 
than the end of the 13th centur^^, and is probably to be 
ascribed to Robert of Gloucester. It is distinguished 
for peculiarities of spelling. For instance, the letter h 
is prefixed to words which are usually spelled without 
it, as holde for old, hete for ate, Henglishe for English, 
hof for of, and has for as. The mode of suppressing the 
h where it belongs, and sounding it where it does not 
belong, is still found among a large body of native Lon- 
doners, and in the fluctuations of speech, what was 
good English in the 14th century, has become vulgar in 
the 19th. Change of some kind wall probably take place 
in our own language as time rolls on, and the English 
of Washington and London may yield to the fortune of 
words and perhaps be modified by the slang of the igno- 
rant. The historical changes of language may be more 
or less rapid, but they take place at all times, and in all 
countries; and although the art of printing and the 
wide diffusion of books and newspapers are acting as a 
powerful barrier to arrest the flu(5luations of human 
speech, those who come after us may wonder that our 
words were ever the spoken language of their ancestors. 
In Brooker's Scripture and Prayer Book Glossary, the 
number of words that have become obsolete since 16 n 
amount to 388, or nearly one fifteenth part of the whole 
number in the Bible. 

I shall refer to only one more of these early ro- 
mances. King Horn is a rhyming poem of about 1330. 
Each line has seven or eight syllables. The story is told 



I02 ROMANCE OF AIvE^XANDKR THB GRKAT. 

in Warton. It is held to be an English, story, though 
translated from the French. Mr. Rawson, by whom it 
was edited, notices that the pronoun is not infrequently 
combined with the auxiliary verb, as shultu for shalt 
thou, wiltu for wilt thou. It is thought to be in the 
Midland dialect, because the plurals of the verbs are 
nearly all in en, the Midland form. 

Of the romances in the Middle Ages founded on fable 
and history, perhaps that of Alexander the Great was 
par excellence the most famous. The traditions of that 
classic hero had been lost in Kurope for several centuries, 
but were probably preserved in Asia, the theatre of his 
greatness, and brought back by the early Crusaders, 
embellished by oriental extravagance. It was an age 
in which the more extravagant a legend, the more it 
was enjoyed. Morgante overwhelmed armies with a 
sound from his bell, Roland called for assistance at 
Roncesvalles with his horn, at the distance of many 
leagues ; gigantic Paladins traversed the earth, the high 
spirit of Orlando passed into a crystal phial, to be poured 
out again in drops that became mighty streams, and 
the haughty Angelique, who disdained Christian kings 
and warriors, was herself caught by the dark eyes of 
a Saracen page. All the wildness of heroic life, and 
the marvels which subvert nature, were disposed of to 
divert the curiosity, or to excite the wonder of that 
olden time. To this class belongs the stor}^ of Alex- 
ander, and it was translated into the vernacular from 
the French during the period of Karl)^ English. It 
was the original of the most celebrated translations 
in the various languages of Europe, and divided 
with the romances of King Arthur and Charlemagne 



the honor of having delighted successive genera- 
tions. 

The English version does not attempt to render the 
poem into the same versification as in the original. 
One form was written in Latin hexameters, or lines of 
twelve syllables, which from that circumstance is called 
the Alexanderine metre. This is the classical form of 
the poem by Phillip Gautier, who wrote in the 12th 
century. Various poems on Alexander sprang up in 
France, and it is difficult to trace the English version to 
its true source. Mr. Marsh is unable to decide anything, 
except that it is probably a rendering from a French 
origin, with interpolations by the translator, that are 
probably original English compositions. 

The English poem is of a more plastic strudlure than 
that of the one just mentioned; the lines being eight 
syllables and sometimes nine or ten. This irregularity 
is wanting in smoothness of style, but admits of an 
animation in the measure that makes up for its inferi- 
ority. It is interesting from its great mixture of 
Romance words without any attempt to Anglicize them. 
Its antiquated French is one of the peculiarities of its 
vocabulary. For example: 

And they horses anenaunt 

To hem Stalworthe and asperaunt. 

It was in this intermingling of Norman with English 
that their fusion into one language commenced. The 
Norman was gradually modified by Robert of Gloucester 
and Robert of Brunne, and finally by Chaucer and his 
contemporaries, until it became one of the principal 
elements in our language. Such words as glory, glor- 
ious, courtesy, and honor are derived from the old Norman 



104 'THE) 'TROJAN I^ABI^KS. 

words glorie, glorius, curtesie, honor, and not from their 
equivalents in modern French as is often supposed. 
These and many other words of the same origin have 
been standard English for five or six hundred years. It 
is observable, therefore, that the "I^yf of Alexander" is 
highly instru(5live in giving us a glimpse of how the 
Norman was first adopted into English. 

We may also enumerate ' ' The Geste Historiale of 
the Destruction of Troy" in this class. The story of 
" Troy divine " forms the subje(5l of many of the princi- 
pal romances of mediaeval Europe. We have seen that 
lyayamon in his " Brut," has taught us that the Britons 
are descendants from Trojans, and Wynntown claims 
the same illustrious pedigree for the bonny Scots. To 
add to the glory of the German name, the Trojans are 
described by the German poets as settling ' ' far on the 
Rhine ' ' and the Weser, and that Caesar met the Franks 
and Saxons as kinsmen, for their ancestors came from 
*' Troy, the ancient town." Joseph of Exceter wrote a 
Latin poem on the Trojan war, based upon the suspicious 
narratives of Dares and Didlys, and Benot de St. Maure 
added his " Geste de Troie." The " Recueil des His- 
toires de Troye ' ' appears to have been the earliest book 
printed by the famous Caxton. The ' ' Geste Historiale ' ' 
was rendered into English from the ' ' Historia Troiana ' ' 
of Guido de Colounas, and extends to 13,800 lines. It 
is supposed by Morris to be of Midland dialedl, but 
Wynntown, Sir Frederick Madden, and the Rev. George 
A. Patten, who edited the work from the manuscript in 
the Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, show 
very conclusively from internal evidence, and from the 
desperate Scotticisms that appear in almost every line. 



WRITE^RS IN MEDI^VAI, LATIN. IO5 

5^^ that it is of Northern origin, and was probably the work 
of Hugh, the Scotch poet. 

One of the most prominent features of the lan- 
guage represented by this book, is the dropping of 
all terminations. The adje(5lives show no inflexions 
for number or case ; the genitive is used like our 
possessive ; the adverbs end in ly ; the participles 
frequently end in ing, yng, and the verbs are marked by 
great simplicity of inflexion, and, singularly, /^r is used 
instead of to for the infinite. Marks of gender and 
variations of meaning are often expressed by a combi- 
nation of words, rather than by changes in the words 
themselves. This result is remarkable, and shows how 
much more the language had grown up in the North 
than in the diale(fl;s further South, by the middle of the 
14th century. Indeed, at that time it was the grandest 
diale(5l for literature in the language. But owing to 
circumstances growing out of the War of the Roses, the 
revival of learning, and the invention of printing, the 
Midland obtained the preponderance and formed the 
basis of our modern speech. It superseded all other 
dialedls as the language of books. 

Among those who wrote in mediaeval I^atin, Roger 
Bacon (121 4- 1292) is the first in rank. His works, 
even today, impose respe(5l and attradl sympathy. He 
had the incomparable genius to see through the barren 
subtilities of the schoolmen who surrounded him, and 
to suggest the true method of philosophizing, that was 
elaborated by his great namesake three centuries later. 
He was a Franciscan, the rules of which order inter- 
dicfled the use of pen, ink, and paper to its members ; 
and the Pope's permission alone allowed him to write 



I06 WRITe:rS in ME^DI^VAI, IvATlN. 

what was in his mind. His Opus Magus, or great 
work, his Opus Minus, or lesser work, and his Opus 
Tertium, or third work, followed each other in the next 
fifteen months. He seemed to work hastily, as if he 
feared the papal dispensation might be rescinded. It is 
said that a more compendious exposition of the accumu- 
lated knowledge of mankind at any particular time, had 
not appeared since Aristotle astonished the world with 
his prodigies of learning. 

About the same time Henry Bracton wrote a Latin 
treatise upon the laws and customs of England, which 
was the first attempt at the elucidation of legal principles 
as the foundation of municipal law in England. Duns 
Scotus, called by his pupils the subtile doctor, and 
William Occam, named by his followers the invincible 
doctor, wrote many volumes of logic, metaphysics, and 
theology in lyatin, that were neither classical nor attract- 
ive. Several other authors, in fields more circumscribed, 
battered away at the fantastic problems of the Middle 
Ages, whose works are now but little known. Some of 
their speculations prevail in modern philosophy. For 
instance. Duns Scotus maintained with a matter of two 
hundred arguments the Immaculate Conception. This 
dogma we have seen revived in the text of an Encyclical 
recently promulgated by the court of Rome. He also 
held that the mind was indivisible, and that the faculties 
are not distinguishable from each other. This doctrine 
is now pretty generally adopted, except by the phrenol- 
ogists. They resorted to the Latin in order to bring 
their writings to the knowledge of a public more 
numerous and extended than they could find in their 
native tongue. Even after the modern languages had 



WORDS DKRIVKD FROM THK SCHOOI.MKN. lO/ 

been perfe(5led the same pra(5lice prevailed. It was in 
I^atin that the great masters of thought wrote their most 
important works, such as Bacon and Hobbs, Spinoza 
and I^eibnitz, Milton and Fenelon. 

The special feature of these literary antiquities that 
has relation to our subject, is the great number of 
words we inherit from them. These theological contro- 
versalists coined many expressive vocables, and in- 
vented a terminology for their peculiar mode of reason- 
ing. Mr. Trench is of opinion that we little guess how 
many of the most familiar words we emplo^^ or mis- 
employ, have thus descended to us. Real, virtual, en- 
tity, nonentity, equivocation^ with many more unknown 
to classical I^atin, but which now have become almost 
necessities, were first coined by the schoolmen, and 
passed over from them into the language of those inter- 
ested in their speculations, and have gradually filtered 
through the successive strata of society till now they 
have reached, some of them, to quite the lowest. 

But to return to the English compositions. There 
were many, besides those mentioned, from popular French 
romances, which then, as now, furnished an inexhaust- 
ible supply of literary material ; but enough have been 
considered to show the progressive changes and import- 
ant characteristics that distinguished Early English 
from Semi-Saxon. I have mentioned only such works as 
I deem of the most peimanent interest. It will scarcely 
be necessar3^ to refer to those that offer but little to seize 
upon except dialedlic peculiarities, or different orthog- 
raphies, which would fail to enhance the utility of this 
enquiry. Matters of mere technical learning do not fall 
within the scope of this work. 



I08 KARI,Y E:NGI.ISH I^ITI^RATURK. 

The literary relics of early English display consider- 
able uniformity in the art of composition, differences 
being confined to dialedlic distin<5lions peculiar to the 
locality of the writer, to style in versification, and the 
working of French words into the mosaic of the Eng- 
lish. They agree in many things. The same species 
of events are made prominent, the same interests dwelt 
upon, and the same kind of achievements extolled. The 
excusable mendacity of poetry converted history into 
fable, and compensated for the abuse by preserving it in 
our own language. Indeed, modern historians who 
write of that time, have to select their proper constitu- 
ents from incidental sources, from neglected accounts 
which bear internal evidence of truth, from exhumed 
state papers, from mouldering parchments, from secret 
correspondence, from diplomatic remains, from national 
archives and cabinets, and from disinterred towns and 
cities. 

It is, however, from the ancient chronicles, legends, 
and rhyming histories that we learn the progress 
of our tongue, and mark its slow advance from one 
period to that which succeeds. This is noticeable in 
the transition from Semi- Saxon to Early English. 
The definite article, ]>e, which had not lost its pronomi- 
nal sense in the former period, had been gradually 
losing the old declension, en, se, seo, .]>aet, and became 
pretty well established in the latter period in the unin- 
flecfted form of the, in both the plural and singular num- 
bers ; with the indefinite a and an, from the Anglo-Saxon 
numeral one as still used in Modern English. We also 
find that Early English deals largely in personal pro- 
nouns that are nearly the same as our own. He, she, 



PRONOMINAI, FORMS IN KARLY KNGI.ISH. IO9 

him, who, their, theirs, us, our, your, yours, we, they, her. 
And the relatives are what, which, and that, with ante- 
cedents of all genders, numbers, and cases. Instead of 
hwas, we now have whose. It is of modern invention. 
As we have seen, the pronoun sometimes formed the 
personal inflexion of the verb, and this was done by the 
addition of the pronoun to the root. To what extent this 
was practiced I am unable to say, but at the period of which 
we now speak the pronoun had assumed very generally 
an independent existence as a part of speech, though 
we meet with it as a part of the verb down to the time 
of Chaucer. The accurate distincftness of a sentence 
may depend upon the precision with which a pronoun 
can be traced back to an antecedent, and the most 
minute attention is necessary in their use. A composi- 
tion in which the pronouns have no antecedents, or in 
which the relation is doubtful, may lead to important 
controversies and much loss and vexation. 

Down to this period there had been an almost imper- 
ceptible tendency to drop the terminations required in 
the ancient declension of nouns. The plurals in es and 
en became common, and are still familiar forms in our 
language, and the grammatical gender fell into disuse, 
if it was not entirely forgotten. The case endings of 
the Anglo-Saxon had almost disappeared. The geni- 
tive singular in es still maintained its ground and is the 
precursor of our possessive. The present participle in 
inge took the place, in the Southern forms, of the older 
ende, ande, while the adjectival and adverbial phrases 
conformed to the Anglicizing changes, that were more or 
less rapid. The prepositions, which give such wonder- 
ful precision and accuracy to our speech, bestowed, as it 



no THE) IvANGUAGK SKTTI^ING INTO RKGUI.ARITY. 

were, the finisliing blow to the ancient inflexions, which 
had so long sustained the assault upon their existence. 
The perplexing mysteries and almost impenetrable sig- 
nification of the case terminations, were working their 
way out of the practical use of the language, and every 
relation of case was coming to be expressed by monosyl- 
lables, that were employed in order to bind the w^ords of 
sentences together so as to afford a clear and definite 
sense to those who heard or read. 

Anything like regularity in the use of the verb was 
neither expected nor observed. It differed not onl}^ in 
the different dialedls, but even in the same dialedl. 
One tense is sometimes put for another, and the numbers 
seem to be badly mixed. Karly English transmits the 
verb in a very shattered condition. The texts, how- 
ever, of the period represent the beginning of a new and 
advanced stage, in which we plainly perceive that the 
language is settling down to a condition in which regu- 
larity is beginning to assert its authority. 



CHAPTER V. 

MIDDLE ENGLISH-1350-1550. 
Historical Introduction to Middle English. 

It is proposed to enter upon the consideration of Mid- 
dle English without very stricft regard to the arbitrary- 
division of time by which it is frequently distinguished. 
This whole period is coincident with the progress of our 
language, from Early English to what is usually denom- 
inated Modern English, and, therefore, comes down to 
about the year 1550. I premise this account with a 
retrospe(5l of some of the historical circumstances con- 
temporaneous with its progress, and which particularly 
aided or retarded the development of the vernacular 
tongue. The condition and language of a people are so 
interdependent that the one often illustrates the other. 

It is well known that the sentiment of national unity 
was one of the most distin<5l and notable symptoms that 
distinguished England from the period popularly called 
the Conquest. Even Celtic England was less I^atinized 
than any of the Roman provinces in Europe, and not- 
withstanding its long subjugation to Roman rule, it 
preserved, more than any other nationality, its own 
original type, and was less mixed in blood and language 
than any other European race. They would neither 
yield their country nor their language to the Saxon 



112 INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^K KNGI.ISH. 

hordes who came from the low German lands to subdue 
them. The Saxon Conquest was, therefore, slow, and 
only succeeded by the extermination of the Celtic people 
and the destrudlion of all the monuments of their civil- 
ization. The Celts were Christianized ; the Saxons 
were pagan and barbarous, and had brought with them 
their manners and their language ; their conversion was 
not until a century and a half, and their language 
received no infusion of the Latin or French until the 
Norman Invasion. In fadl, the Teutonic element is so 
strongly constituted today, that it is impossible to frame 
an English sentence out of Latin or other elements. It 
is pointed out that the Lord's Prayer contains sixty-five 
Saxon words out of sixty-nine ; of the eighty-one words 
in Hamlet's monologue, but eighteen are taken from the 
Norman- French . 

The Norman freebooters were from the same German 
stock as the Saxons. They had adopted the French 
language and manners from the people they conquered 
on the Continent ; but we are at liberty to imagine that 
the Germanic sub-soil still subsisted in the race, in 
which the Anglo-Saxon seeds would spring up with 
singular vigor, as in their native earth. We can, there- 
fore, comprehend that the aboriginal diale(5l of the two 
races should in the end predominate in their common 
speech, and that only a limited proportion of the French 
should become infused into the antique idiom which 
prevailed in the low Germanic countries, from which 
both Saxon and Norman descended. 

We can also believe that the solidarity of a language 
is naturally more prompt and likely to occur in an 
insular nation, than in a continental state. Frontiers 



INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI,!^ KNGI.ISH. II 3 

marked by a river or a mountain present but little 
obstacle to the intercourse of the neighboring districfts. 
When nations are divided by a barrier so narrow, they 
cultivate terms of intimacy, and a mixed dialedl or 
patois springs up. The descendants of the Huguenots, 
who settled in Germany after the revocation of the Kdi(5l 
of Nantes, speak both languages today, and the German 
and English colonists who settled Pennsylvania have, 
by intercourse, produced a patois called Pennsylvania 
Dutch. But when there is a separation so distindlly 
marked upon the map as the sea, it seems to isolate the 
people it surrounds, and we think of them as set apart 
from all others. This was soon illustrated on the British 
Isle, for in a century after the Conquest the Normans 
began to consider themselves as one people with the 
vanquished. Indeed, before the close of the nth cen- 
tury, Henry I. united Norman and Saxon races by 
his marriage with Matilda, granddaughter of Edmund 
Ironsides, and one of the Saxon heirs to the throne 
(hoc) . The unity of the two races was also manifested 
by their common prejudice against followers who came 
across the Channel with Henry II. when he returned 
from his possessions in France. He was master of more 
than one third of that countiy. Normandy submitted 
to him ; he obtained 'Maine and Anjou from his brother, 
and Nantes by descent. The dowry of his wife brought 
him seven provinces on the south. He annexed Brit- 
tany, inherited Lorraine, and claimed the County of 
Toulouse. His French dominions comprehended the 
whole Atlantic coast of France, and nearly all the lands 
bordering upon the Channel. His frequent presence in 
these provinces was indispensable, and on his return he 



114 INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^K ENGLISH. 

was accompanied by large numbers of persons, and even 
fresh arrivals from Normandy. These new-comers were 
regarded as foreigners, and the old Norman occupants, 
as well as the Saxons, cherished a common hatred for 
all the various hordes that came with the king on these 
occasions, to eat out their substance. 

Indeed, we are assured in the Dialogue of the Ex- 
chequer, a document of the 12th century, that the fusion 
of the conquerors and the vanquished was so far accom- 
plished, that it was nearly impossible to discover among 
freemen who was English and who was of Norman ori- 
gin. The Saxons who retained their lands, and those 
who recovered them, were now occasionally admitted to 
the Great Council, to the privileges of knighthood, and 
to exercise the function of justices in the county and 
local courts. The same period was signalized by fre- 
quent marriages between the two races ; while marriage 
with foreigners was looked upon as a disgrace. In the 
Great Charter it is ordained that heiresses should not 
be compelled to marry men not of the kingdom of Eng- 
land. Thus the national consciousness was amalgamat- 
ing the diverse races into an insular people, and giving a 
special and energetic aid in developing a national lan- 
guage without a parallel upon the Continent. People of 
the same kindred adopt congenial habits and uniformity 
of speech. 

The consolidation of territory has an immense influ- 
ence upon the unification of language. During the 
12th century English domain was completely incorpor- 
ated. In the Anglo-Saxon period, certain tribes of 
invaders occupied a region more or less extended, and 
represented an ephemeral kingdom, but not a very dis- 



INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^K KNGI.ISH. II5 

tindl or permanent nationality ; and few of them pos- 
sessed a separate political existence with an historical 
record. The domain of Alfred comprehended not more 
than one fifth of England. The kings of the heptarchy 
were seven in number, and they exercised each a dis- 
tindl sovereignty. They were uniting and separating, 
sometimes by marriage, sometimes by conquest, by con- 
tract, by inheritance, and always ready to attack each 
other according to the prospects of spoliation or territo- 
rial aggrandizement. Revolution, conquest, and fusion 
often swept away the barriers that separated them, until 
at last they were conquered en masse by the Normans, 
and the unification of all England was enforced by the 
iron heel of a military despotism that Britain had never 
before experienced. With the unification of the soil, 
that of the people and their language was only a ques- 
tion of time, and this condition had been so far reached 
after the lapse of a century and a half, that England 
entered under the dynasty of the Plantagenets into the 
great annals of European history with a distincft na- 
tional system and language of its own. 

Another circumstance that aided in bringing the 
people together, was the growth of the Common Law. 
We know that the Conqueror attempted to root out the 
Saxon language by the introduction of Norman- French ; 
and that he also tried to suppress the Saxon laws by 
substituting those of Normandy in their place. He suc- 
ceeded in neither of these schemes. A new language 
was formed from the unequal blending of the two 
idioms. We know that he established the Feudal Law 
of Tenures in order to displace the owners of the land 
and set up his vassals as the supporters of his usurpa- 



Il6 INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI.B ENGI.ISH. 

tion. But from the great variety of laws and customs 
that prevailed in different parts of the country, which 
had descended from the customary laws of the Anglo- 
Saxon system, there sprang up gradually one uniform 
certain law, which thereby acquired the name of the 
Common I^aw, for the whole kingdom. 

In the reign of Henry II. (1154 to 1189) local differ- 
ences had nearly disappeared. In a society commencing 
the work of progress after the century of disorder that fol- 
lowed the Conquest, all races and classes had an interest in 
permanently settling their respective rights . To this king 
is due the honor of dividing England into six judicial cir- 
cuits, through which he sent Justices in Byre, or Circuit 
Judges, twice a year (11 77). The jurisprudence devel- 
oped in the periodical circuits through the whole country, 
finally embraced the whole circle of social relations, and 
served without an effort to produce uniformity. Thus, the 
Common Law became the same for all England. It was 
never imposed, because it was never resisted. It made 
its way without noise under the form of decrees and 
judicial precedents. Now a people having the same 
law will naturally grow into the use of the language in 
which it is expressed, and we can safely predict that it 
will be that of the nation. The English language is 
found today wherever the Common Law prevails, and it 
is observed that the same temperament of society is con- 
genial to them both. 

Events of a political chara(5ler have also contributed 
powerfully to precipitate the fusion of races and classes. 
Magna Charta is perhaps the most important of these 
(June 16, 1215). The first grant of popular rights had, 
however, preceded this great law, for Henry I., 



INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI.^^ KNGI.ISH. 11/ 

Upon his accession to the crown, confirmed all the laws 
of Edward the Confessor, and compiled them with other 
grants into one statute, to be kept in some public place 
in every county. This statute was confirmed and aug- 
mented from time to time by several of his successors ; 
but these promises were constantly evaded by the de- 
testable governments of the Norman and Plantagenet 
kings. In fact, England can scarcely be said to have 
been born until the Great Charter gave it birth. It 
was terrorized by these unbridled tyrants, who defied 
all authority, and for whom there was neither repression 
nor punishment. These evils culminated in a period of 
frightful anarchy during the reign of King John (1199- 
12 16). The barons rallied from one end of the king- 
dom to the other in a national and popular movement. 
They had several times been drawn together by com- 
mon grievances, and they now clearly saw again that 
their rights and interests required their mutual support, 
and the efforts that they made together were crowned 
by a victory in which the great men of the nation stood 
shoulder to shoulder with the humbler classes and 
secured guarantees in favor of the poor and power- 
less. Magna Charta would have been of but little im- 
portance and less value if it had provided for the safety 
and protedlion of the baronial classes only. It was a 
pledge given by each to all the others, in which the 
whole English people were united against oppression, 
and in which it was stipulated that justice requires all 
orders of men to be equall}^ amenable to and equally pun- 
ishable by the law ; and that the Supreme Power is bound 
to provide for such equal distribution of justice to all 
members of society of whatever rank. Eord Brougham 



1 1 8 INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^e; KNGLISH. 

in his essays on "Statesmen," refers to the fine observa- 
tion of Chatham, that "those iron barons (for so I may 
call them when compared with the silken barons of 
modern days) were the guardians of the people; and 
three words of their barbarous Latin, nullus liber homo, 
are worth all the classics." 

These principles did not, of course, effedl a peaceful 
integration of the political system at once. There were 
many changes, advances, and retrogressions in pracftic- 
ally working out the forms of self-government. But the 
great value of Magna Charta consists in having left the 
social elements to group and arrange themselves in new 
and phenomenal forms, and to bind all classes by a high 
and generous sentiment. 

Another remarkable event took place while John was 
king. This was the separation of Normandy, and the 
loss of the other English possessions in France, about 
the dawn of the 13th century. The chief places in the 
church and state were no longer conferred upon favorites 
from that country, and the two races a(fted together 
more closely than ever. 

In 1244 another event of scarcely less importance 
took place, and effedlually put an end to all intermi- 
gration between the two countries. In that year, 
Louis IX. of France, and Henry III. of England, 
required their subje(5ls mutually to abandon any lands 
which they owned in each other's dominions ; and 
Henry, who was probably the most execrable tyrant of 
the age, confiscated at once every estate in his kingdom 
belonging to those who held under the crown of France. 
By the permanent breaking up of all connecflion with 
the Continent, the fate of early French was doomed. 



INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI.K ENGLISH. II9 

For a period of one hundred and fifty years it had been 
the accepted medium of intercourse of the nobility and 
the court of England, but it had not succeeded in sup- 
planting the speech of the masses. As we have already 
remarked, there is scarcely any trace of it in the Semi- 
Saxon authors, and it was not until Robert of Glou- 
cester's Chronicle of the Kings of England that it was 
admitted at all as an element in the formation of the 
new language ; nor was it until the appearance of the 
Canterbury Tales that any work was put forth with any 
very great infusion of its terms. When it ceased to be 
forced upon the country, the instin(5live striving after 
new forms, so characfl eristic of our tongue, led to the 
adoption of many vigorous and euphonious Anglo-Nor- 
man terms, that added softness and style to Middle 
English. It is fair to presume that the Normans would 
now begin to use the speech of the people, and to inter- 
mix with it a portion of their own, and thus gradually 
and involuntarily introduce terms for which the primi- 
tive language had no analogue, or at least substitute 
those of the same sense to improve its vocabulary ; so 
that the coalescence which proved impossible under 
compulsion, became spontaneous when left to the natural 
course of speech ; and we know that generally the ac- 
cretion of French words has entered into the strudlure 
of our language with singular grace and homogeneity. 

Another circumstance that may properly be noticed 
in this connedlion, is the constitution of Parliament. 
In fadl, it was the means of adlion that gave force to the 
union of classes. Parliament is the permanent organ 
by which the provisions of the Great Charter are perpet- 
uated in the laws of a free people. At first the 



I20 INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^K E^NGI^ISH. 

king called around him the most distinguished of 
the barons, with prelates and judges, for con- 
sultation and advice upon matters of war, and upon 
raising subsidies. They composed the magnum con- 
cilium, or great council of the king, and were quite 
likely the rudiment of the regular Parliament. The 
knights, who held their lands diredlly from the king, 
were under the obligation of military service, but from 
an early period they showed a desire to remain upon 
their property, instead of following the king in his wars 
upon the Continent. Henry II. exonerated the 
whole class from that service upon their submitting to a 
tax for the exemption. The knights, gradually losing 
their military character and feudal rights, blended with 
the other free proprietors. The Saxons who had never 
lost their lands, and those who had recovered them, 
belonged to the same class, and all these began to form 
that great middle class, which was destined to acquire 
such preponderance in the state and the government, 
and whose united voice was heard in Parliament before 
the close of the 13th century. 

In 1290 the Parliament ena(5led a statute that every 
freeman who did not hold his land from the crown, 
might sell all or a part of his property without the con- 
sent of the lord of the barony. He thus became an 
ordinary proprietor but little inferior to the baron 
himself. Many other abuses were remedied. Saxon 
serfdom had vanished, and Norman villenage, together 
with the fierce baronial contests, was scarcely known 
after the War of the Roses. The proprietors, squires, 
gentlemen, and knights found themselves associated in 
many important functions : sometimes administrative, 



INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^E; KNGI^ISH. 121 

as tlie control of roads, bridges, prisoners, and police ; 
the guardianship of parishes, the care of the poor, the 
colle(5lion of taxes, and preparing the lists of electors. 
Sometimes their duties were judicial, as sitting justices 
of the peace and as judges in the county courts and 
courts of sessions. In fact, they became an active and 
powerful body through their immense numbers and 
influence. And when the boroughs or municipal rep- 
resentation appeared as a completely independent branch 
of Parliament, by a division of the assembly into Lords 
and Commons, which took place in the early part of the 
14th century, they made laws that were equally binding 
on king and subjecft, and as a necessary part of the leg- 
islature the Commons attained the exclusive right of 
initiating all taxes that were imposed upon the people, 
and resorted to this right as the best prote(ftion against 
the excesses of arbitrary power. They were recognized 
as the representative body of the people, and held com- 
plete control of the national finances. The government 
was already a constitutional monarchy, and the king's 
prerogatives were limited to such an extent that it was 
impossible for him to imprison or exile any person in 
his dominion. Due process of law was understood to 
mean that every man charged with an offense could 
be tried in a court of justice only, and according to 
judicial forms. In fadl, the whole machinery of govern- 
ment and administration was settling down to all the 
responsible forms of civil institutions as we have 
them. 

It was during this period that the printing press opened 
its influence to the wings of intelligence, and the mari- 
ner's compass had already opened all regions of the earth 



122 INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^K ENGIvISH. 

to exploration and settlement. There was no spot too 
distant or too obscure for man's energies, and no kind 
of knowledge too high for him to grasp. The surface 
of the globe and the vault of the heavens were hereafter 
to be the scenes of his wonderful discoveries, and the 
glory of his intellecft was to shine in his poetry and 
literature. 

The course of events had been of a most extraordinary 
character ; the nation had acquired established form, 
and had demonstrated its power on the Continent. As 
we have seen, it was a great deal on the Continent, and 
displayed its power and valor on more than one field 
and in more than one mode of acftion. After the Great 
Charter had been forced from John and confirmed by 
Edward III., the people became more and more import- 
ant, and at last controlled the resources of the country, 
and again and again resisted the encroachments of the 
king upon the rights guaranteed by Magna Charta. 
The time had come when the .people felt their own power 
in the state, and exercised an influence upon the gov- 
ernment that could not be pushed aside to gratify the 
wishes of the ruling classes. It was the good old plain 
English sense of justice asserting itself on many mem- 
orable occasions in tones of unmistakable meaning, 
demanding the equal right of all men to prote(5lion from 
unjust and unequal legislation. There is nothing so 
remarkable about this period as the idea then prevalent 
that the king was in point of facft to consult the people 
on great questions of war and peace, and to permit them 
to determine those questions for themselves. 

Another circumstance which characfterizes this period 
was the condition of men of letters. They were confined 



INTRODUCTION TO MIDDLE^ KNGI.ISH. 123 

altogether to the monastic orders, and with the exception 
of Mandeville, Langland, and Chaucer, there is scarcely 
a writer who was not a member of some religious body. 
The whole mass of literature was, therefore, of a devo- 
tional turn, with the exception of the ** Bruce," by Bar- 
bour, who was also a churchman, but his poem was an 
historical epic. I refer, of course, to works of original 
composition, and not to the historical romances, which 
were mere translations or adaptations from the French, 
like the Brut of Layamon, or the various poems about 
Arthur and his knights. As yet no writer could support 
himself by his works, and, indeed, no author previous to 
the days of Dry den made a subsistence by his pen, and 
the attempt, even then, was almost a failure. 

It was an age of considerable freedom of thought. 
Wickliffe was permitted to express his religious views 
and preach his heresies against the church, and was 
protedted by the king. Mandeville wrote his travels and 
showed to his bigoted countrymen that some of the 
heathen nations he had visited led better lives than 
they did at home. I^angland spoke of the abuses in 
church and state with the utmost license ; and Chaucer, 
though a favorite at court, never sang their praises nor 
fawned upon their favor, but chose for his greatest work 
the occurrences and people of everyday life. It would 
seem from this circumstance that as early as the 14th 
century the people were a body whom it was safe to 
invest with the charms of poetry, and to be adopted as 
the theme of the highest and best literary work that had 
been produced in England. It is also remarkable as 
showing the growth of public opinion in the course of 
two centuries, from the time when the people were 



124 INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^E^ KNGI.ISH. 

regarded as serfs, or debased to the lowest stage of 
Norman vassalage. 

Another circumstance affedling the early history of 
our language, is its sandlion by legal enadlment. We 
have heretofore adverted to the laws of William the 
Conqueror, requiring all public a6ls and judicial pro- 
ceedings tp be carried on in Norman-French; and 
Blackstone informs us that even the arguments of coun- 
sel and the decisions of the court were in the same 
"barbarous dialedl." By a statute passed in the reign 
of Edward III. (1362), it was enacfled that for the future 
all legal proceedings should be in the English tongue, 
and that the record only should be in lyatin. The 
Norman lawyers did not, probably, restricft themselves 
to English ; but it had gained a signal vicftory over the 
native language of the dominant race ; and when the 
two idioms were at last concurrently used in the most 
important transactions, they would naturally break into 
each other and the points of differences gradually dis- 
appear, until their grammar and orthography assimilated 
in a universal dialecft. It was like crushing the quartz 
to powder to secure its gold. Even the church did not 
escape the innovation, for it was further ena(5led that no 
•priest should be eligible to promotion unless he could 
deliver his discourses in English, which extended all 
over the country. These laws had a general and perma- 
nent influence. The Norman-French had been generally 
the literary language of England for 300 years. The 
heroic poems and historical records were in French or 
Eatin. But from this time the corruption of the former 
was complete, so that even Frenchmen regarded it as a 
degraded patois no longer fit for use, and the native 



INTRODUCTION TO MIDDI^K ENGI^ISH. 125 

Norman writers began to apologize for its debasement. 
Such is a partial sketch of the influences which led 
to the success of our mother tongue after the close of 
the Semi-Saxon and Early English periods, and it forms 
a suitable introdudlion to the next chronological division, 
which is usually recognized by philologists as Middle 
English. The former is assumed to come down to the 
middle of the 14th century, while the latter brings us 
down nearly to the birth of Queen Elizabeth. 



CHAPTER VI. 

MIDDLE ENGLISH— 1350-1550. 

1. Sir John Mandeville. His Saxons, Danes, Norwe- 

Travels. The First Attempt gians, and Normans. The 
in Prose in Middle English. Gaelic. Ossian. Introduc- 
His Marvelous Stories. An tion of French Idioms. 
Example of His Work and Early Development of the 
Extravagance. Great Num- Diale6l. 
ber of French and Latin 3. John Barbour. His Bruce, 
Words. Importance of Fi- the Earliest Epic in Our 
nal e in Middle English. Language. 
Uninfle(5led Forms. His 4. John Wickliffe. His Trans- 
Broad and Generous Views. lation of the Bible. His 

2. The Scottish Dialedt. Its Religious Views. Few of 

Origin Framed by Scots, His Words Obsolete. 

It is not, of course, possible to point out with cer- 
tainty at what instant Early English ceased and Middle 
English took its place. The sequence in their order 
was so gradual that their confluence embraced writers 
of both periods. The Chronicles of Robert of Gloucester 
and Robert of Brunne are claimed by some linguists to 
be the first specimens of English as we understand it. 
However this may be. Middle English occupies the 
time from the first half of the 14th century to the middle 
of the 1 6th. The English language, like the English 
charadler, had worked out its long probation, and it was 
now ready for the moulding hands that were about to 
establish it permanently in a classical form. 



SIR JOHN MANDKVII.I.K. 12/ 

The Travels of Sir John Mandeville was the first 
attempt at the description of foreign lands that had been 
made in England, and was probably the only book of 
travels that had been written since the works of Marco 
Polo, a hundred years before. It is quite likely that 
Mandeville had seen that book, as well as those of 
Piano Carpini and of Odericus, who had both been sent 
into the far East in the early part of the 13th century to 
convert the heathens to Christianity ; and it is said that 
Sir John, who was in possession of Odericus's manuscript, 
embraced the observations of that writer in his own text, 
and made them the foundation of his fabulous narrative. 

The book, which appeared in 1356, is a most stu- 
pendous attempt upon the credulity of mankind. It is 
scarcely possible he could have believed his own stories, 
or that he expecfted that any intelligent person would 
credit them. 

Among the marvelous things he relates, is a desert 
where the men have two horns, and speak not, but 
grunt like "pygges." In another place he finds birds 
that speak as though they were men, and men that do 
not speak at all, but hiss like serpents ; he also describes 
trees that bear meal, honey, and wine, and other trees 
whose fruits become birds, and he even saw women in 
the form of dragons, besides many other marvels, that 
surpass the legends of the saints, or the stories of Sin- 
bad the Sailor. He contrived to discover an "Yle" 
(island) where the inhabitants live in an ideal state of 
happiness and perfedlion, quite equal to the condition of 
things in the Utopia or the Atlantis of Bacon, At the 
risk of being a little diffusive, I make an extracfl from 
his description of what he pretends to have seen in this 



128 



THK HAPPY ISI.AND. 



Eden of mankind. It will also exhibit about the first 
example of prose in Middle English. 

"And bezonde that Yle is another Yle, gret and gode, and 
plenty fous, where that ben gode folk and trewe, and of gode lyv- 
ynge, aftre hire Beleve, and of gode Feythe. And alle be it that 
thei ben not cristned, ne have no perfyt Lawe, zit natheles of 
kyndely Lawe, thei ben fulle of alle Vertue, and thei eschewen alle 
Vices and alle Malices and alle Synnes. For thei ben not proude, 
ne coveytous, ne envyous, ne wrathefulle, ne glotouns, ne leccherous ; 
ne thei don to no man other wise than thei wolde that other men 
diden to hem ; and in this poynt, thei fullefillen the lo Commande- 
mentes of God ; and thei zive no charge of Aveer ne of Ricchesse ; 
and thei lye not, ne thei swere not, for non occasioun ; but thei 
seyn symply, ze and nay. For thei seyn, He that swerethe will 
disceyve his Neyghbore ; and therfore all that thei don, thei don it 
with outen Othe. And men clepen that Yle, the Yle of Bragman ; 
and some men clepen it the Lond of Feythe. And thorgh that 
Lond rennethe a gret Ryvere, that is clept Thebe. And in gener- 
alle, alle the men of tho Yles and of alle the Marches there abouten, 
ben more trewe than in any othere Con trees there abouten, and 
more righte fulle than othere, in all thinges. In that Yle is no 
Thief, ne Mordrere, ne comoun Woman, ne pore beggere, ne nevere 
was man slayn in that Contree. And thei ben so chast, and leden 
so gode lif, as tho thei weren religious men ; and thei fasten alle 
dayes. And because thei ben so trewe and so rightfulle and so fulle 
of alle gode condiciouns, thei weren nevere greved with Tempestes, 
ne with Thondre, ne with Leyt, ne with Hayl, ne with Pestylence, ne 
with Werre, ne with Hungre, ne with non other tribulaccioun, as 
wee ben many tymes amonges us, for oure Synnes. Wherfore, it 
semethe wel, that God lovethe hem and is plesed with hire Creance, 
for hire gode Dedes. Thei beleven wel in God, that made alle 
thinges ; and him thei worschipen. And thei preysen non erthely 
Ricchesse ; and so thei ben alle right fulle. And thei lyven fulle 
ordynatly, and so sobrely in Met and Drynk, that thei lyven right 
longe. And the most part of hem dyen with outen Syknesse, whan 
nature faylethe hem for elde. ' ' 

The book was in three languages, for the reason, as 



INTRODUCTION OF FRBNCH AND XATIN. 129 

the author says, "And zee schulle undirstonde that I 
have put this Boke out of Latyn into Frensche, and 
translated it agen out of Frensche into Knglyssche, that 
every man of my Nacioun may undirstonde it." Mr. 
Marsh, in his ''Early Literature of the English Lan- 
guage," refers to a writer who, in speaking of the 
Mandeville manuscripts, affirms as follows: "I will 
undertake to say, that of no book, with the exception of 
the Scriptures, can more manuscripts be found of the 
end of the 14th and the beginning of the 15th cen- 
turies." He related the miracles he had witnessed, 
and the marvels he had heard of from others, in the lan- 
guage that the common people could understand. The 
work, of course, was popular. But its popularity is 
significant of the progress of the language in passing 
from its early forms, for it is estimated that in this 
single book there is an addition of fourteen hundred 
French and Latin words to the vocabulary of previous 
writers, and nearly all of them are still retained ; such, 
for instance, as assembly, comprehend, conquer, survivor, 
excellent, frailty, inflame, moisten, nation, people, philoso- 
pher, plainly, proclaim, promise, pronounce, province, 
publish, reconcile, redress, subject, temporal, translate, tres- 
passer, visit, and hundreds of others equally useful, all 
of which were enrolled by Mandeville in our literature, 
and around which the new language became solidified. 
Whether this vast accession was made by a single 
writer may be a question. More likely the Romance 
element had been gradually making its way into the 
common speech of the people during the fifty years that 
had elapsed since the Chronicle of Robert of Gloucester 
commenced their more extensive use. It is a fair 



130 FINAI, **B" IN MIDDI.K KNGI.ISH. 

deduction that the Anglo-Normans would resort to their 
native speech for many of their own terms, in respect of 
which the English had no analogue, and that Mande- 
ville used only expressional modes that had become 
familiar in the colloquial discourse. There can be no 
doubt that the grasp and flexibility of our tongue were 
extended by the intermixture, and that its asperities 
were softened by idiomatic equivalents thus introduced 
into its general analysis; while its vocabulary was 
enriched for the triumphs of its literature. 

The passage from Mandeville presents the appear- 
ance of the first Middle English prose, and we cannot 
fail to perceive its approximation to present forms. For 
instance, it contains a total of not less than 350 words, 
and 125 of these remain unchanged in meaning and 
even in orthography. Quite a number are the same, 
with the exception of a final e, as longe, righte. It was 
not the least extraordinary among the resources of Mid- 
dle English, that it had the power of ascribing different 
meanings by means of this termination, so that atten- 
tion to final e is of great importance. It was the sign 
of the dative case in nouns, and of the plural number in 
adjectives. It was the sign of the infinitive mood in 
verbs, and of the past participle in strong verbs. 
Strong verbs are so called because they form the past 
tense and perfect participle by an internal vowel change, 
as write, wrote. Weak verbs are so called because they 
go outside of the present to form the past tense and per- 
fect participle, as love, loved, rule, ruled. The power of 
developing the verb by means of a terminal e, is quite 
extensive in this author. It is common in adverbs, as 
aboute^ above, and in personal pronouns, as oure, youre, 



SPElvIvING. 131 

hire^ here. It is often pronounced as a distinct syl- 
lable, and Chaucer uses it for this purpose in his 
rhyming couplets. In time it was retrenched. Many 
other words present an eqUal likeness by drop- 
ping a letter or a syllable, and others have been 
moulded by rejecting the inflexions belonging to older 
forms. Indeed, the most striking circumstance in the 
language of Mandeville, is the uninflecfted forms of his 
words. In this respecft he is far in advance of his pred- 
ecessors, and even of his immediate contemporaries, not 
excepting Chaucer himself. The mode of expressing 
the relation of words in a sentence by terminations is 
almost totally negle(5led, and we have the words placed 
after each other as in Modern English. The parts of 
speech are the same as we now have them, and the 
numbers, genders, and cases are as near to our grammar 
as they can be, according to the orthography he adopts. 
The last is in the forms of Karl}'^ English, which it is 
still difficult to read unless we have given some time to 
its study. It is somewhat remarkable that spelling is 
still the most difficult part of our speech, and our 
present forms will quite likely puzzle our descendants 
in four or five centuries, as we are puzzled by that which 
prevailed in the 14th century. The manner in w^hich 
words are spelled never has depended upon the phonetic 
value of the letters composing them, and we may add 
that that of the 14th century not only differs from that 
of the 19th, but is in itself a peculiarity of its literature 
that can only be aided by glossaries and explanatory 
notes. 

Mandeville undoubtedly intended to instrudl his 
countrymen by an entertainment as delightful as the 



132 HIS IvIBKRAI^ITY TO OTHKR NATIONS. 

tales of Arabian Nights. It was an age when the 
imagination was the best way to reach and inform the 
understanding. The mind of the people was occupied 
with the miraculous deeds of the saints and the super- 
natural wonders of magic and enchantment, and was 
fascinated with the wildest fictions of romance. He not 
unlikely thought that a dry detail would find but few 
who would read his book or care for its author, and he 
interspersed it liberally with fabulous descriptions. He 
has oft repeated descriptions of places where the inhab- 
itants are of a disposition so highly cultivated in all 
kinds of virtue and happiness that they seem like beings 
of another race. Indeed, the whole book is free from 
the intolerance of his contemporaries. He sees virtues 
and goodness to admire in the many peoples whom he 
visited, and even compares some of them with those of 
Christian Europe, for their superior morals and charadler. 
In the instance of the Great Khan of Tartary, in whose 
service he was employed, he describes a prince of rare 
excellence, who, while adhering to his own religious 
rites, permits his subjedls to receive instruction in the 
dodlrines of Christianity, and to become converts if they 
please. There is no abuse of the nations which he 
visits, nor is there any lack of criticism in regard to 
their modes of life, but in all this he seems to have been 
adluated by a broad and liberal consideration of all he 
saw or heard. He illustrates the goodness of God to all 
his creatures. We read of nations the most remote and 
find that they all have the means of happiness, and are 
grateful to Him and worship Him under a great variety 
of forms, sometimes bending the knee, sometimes pierc- 
ing the body, and sometimes enduring hunger and thirst 



I^OWIvAND SCOTCH DIAI.KCT. 1 33 

and even death, for the blessing and glory of heaven. 
There is no people so poor but that they have some idea 
of God, and some mode of worshiping Him. The most 
benighted worship Him and rear rude temples to his 
name. But all this is not enough ; the mere belief in 
God is not sufficient. We must do God's work on earth 
and bless His children as He blesses them with His love 
and goodness. 

The cultivation of our English tongue was not 
confined to England alone. Long before the days of 
Chaucer, the Lowland Scotch had exhibited several 
writers of great merit. The growth of the Scotch dialedl 
was derived from the same Gothic basis as the English. 
Several dialedls are known to have existed in England, 
and some of their intervariations are as dissimilar to 
each other as they are to the Scotch vernacular itself. 
It is even contended by several able writers that the 
latter had an origin long before the Norman Conquest, 
and that it had been introduced by a Gothic race 
direcflly from the North of Europe, and not as has been 
generally supposed by the Saxons coming into the 
country from England. Mr. Ellis is of opinion 
that the Scottish* language was separately formed from 
that of England, and that it owed its identity to its 
being construdled of similar materials, by similar grada- 
tions, and by nations in the same state of society. It 
is also claimed that Scandinavia was the original birth- 
place of the Pidls, and that this remarkable race had, at 
an early day, planted itself upon the greater part of the 
country and established a Gothic form of speech long 

♦Dissertation on the origin of the Scottish language prefixed to Jamison's 
Dictionary History of Scottish Poetry, by Dr. David Irving. 



134 I^OWIvAND SCOTCH DIAI^KCT. 

before the Saxon change in England. Now, if it be true 
that the Pidls were a Gothic race, it follows that their 
language was very different from that of the Celtic 
inhabitants, or else they must have forgotten their own 
language and adopted that of the aboriginal people. 
On the other hand, that the Scottish language is merely 
a diale(5l of the English, has been maintained as the 
most reasonable explanation of the controversy, by 
scholars like Dr. Geddes and Professor Murray. 

The range of our historical knowledge of the period 
referred to has been considerably enlarged by the dis- 
covery and publication of certain ancient chronicles 
and laws of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and particu- 
larly by Dr. W. F. Skene's volumes upon " Celtic Scot- 
land. ' ' These records, coming down to us from the nth 
and 1 2th, and even some of them from an antiquity as 
far back as the 9th century, have shed much light upon 
the obscure annals of a period about which it was sup- 
posed there were no contemporaneous writings, and 
have modified previous views upon various subjects. 
The conclusion is that the Picts and Caledonians were 
a Gaelic people, ethnologically related to the Scoti, or 
inhabitants of Ireland, and that the same institutions 
and tongue prevailed with both races. In the begin- 
ning of the 6th century, and shortly after the Roman 
legions had withdrawn from the island, a large colony 
of the Scoti passed over to the west coast of North Britain, 
and settling in the more level parts ultimately gained 
permanent supremacy, and gave their name to the 
country. Meanwhile, the northern coasts were suffer- 
ing the most terrible incursions from the piratical Dane 
and Norwegian, who desolated the country again and 



IvOWIyAND SCOTCH DIAI^E^CT. 1 35 

again, as they had the shores of both France and Eng- 
land. These rovers of the sea finally created an earl- 
dom in Orkney Island, and also succeeded in making 
some permanent settlements in Caithness, Sutherland, 
and what is now the country of Argyle, where they 
formed communities of intermingled Saxons, Danes, 
and Norwegians. It is also certain that there were 
many causes besides those just mentioned instrumental 
in forming a language for the northern part of the island 
— one singularly idiomatic, with delicate shades of sig- 
nificance, with picturesque phrases, which were full of 
meaning to the Scots, but hardly intelligible to others. 
Its vowels have an extraordinary similarity to the broad 
sound of the vowels in all the cognate languages on the 
Continent. We know that throughout the various 
regions of English speech the vowels are pronounced 
quite different, as if it had not descended from the same 
almost forgotten original. It is difficult, if not almost 
impossible, to assert the period when this change first 
made its appearance, or to decide upon what grounds it 
was adopted. We agree, however, that the important 
features of the Scottish and English dialedls are charac- 
teristic of Saxon and Gothic lineage, and that from the 
earliest dawn of letters, the native writers in both king- 
doms used substantially the same vernacular, with the 
exception of isolated words or phrases that were peculiar 
to the North. The latter bore the designation of the Inglis 
of the Northern Lede. Many other circumstances contrib- 
uted to the same result. It is true that Northumbria at 
one period had the most cultured idiom in either king- 
dom, and that its literature and language reached from 
the Humber to the Firth of Forth. It was the language 



136 AN KCHO FROM OSSIAN. 

of the Brut, of the Cursor Mundi, and of Hampole. It 
was peculiar and somewhat distinct, being the mother 
tongue of more than three fourths of the people from 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, along the whole east coast of Eng- 
land, and the I^owlands of Scotland. From it is derived 
the vernacular of the I^owland Scotch, which we read in 
Sir Walter Scott's novels, and in the verse of Burns. 

Gaelic had been the language of the country. The 
demarcations of race and language are not yet extin- 
guished. In many parts of the Highlands the Gaelic is 
still spoken, especially on the indented shore of the 
West and the adjacent islands. A passionate attach- 
ment exists for the Celtic tongue, and it has been car- 
ried, like the household gods of the Gael, across every 
ocean and into every land where he has settled. From 
no other people could the wild and majestic songs of 
Ossian come. How marvelous are his pictures of 
grandeur and desolation. I shall give but one strain 
from their gloomy echo : 

**I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. 
The fox looked out from the windows, the rank grass of the walls 
waved around her head. Raise the song of the morning, O Bards, 
over the land of the stranger, they have but now fallen before us, 
for one day we must fall. Here dost thou behold the wild son of 
the winged days. Thou lookest from thy tower today ; yet a few 
years and the blast from the destroyer comes. A wind howls in thy 
empty halls and whistles around thy half-worn shield ; let the blast 
of the destroyer come. We shall be remembered in our day. " 

Not more than a century elapsed after the Teutonic 
tribes had subjugated the southern portion of the Brit- 
ish isle, when they carried their devastations into the 
southeastern districts of Scotland. They seized all the 
country between the Tweed and the Firth. As early as 



I,OWI.AND SCOTCH DIAI.KCT. 1 37 

the 7th century the dominion of the Angles was estab- 
lished over that whole region, and Badwin, their king, 
erecfled the strong fortress of Kadwines-barb, which 
name was afterwards bestowed upon the Scottish me- 
tropolis. The kingdom of Northumbria was then the 
most powerful monarchy in Britain, extending from 
what is now the southern limit of Yorkshire to the Firth 
of Forth, and comprehending what are now the south- 
eastern counties of Scotland. That part of Northum- 
bria north of the Tweed was called Lothian, and this 
territory, which had been ruled over alternately by 
English and Scotch monarchs, was finally ceded in the 
year 975 by Edgar, who had become King of all Eng- 
land, to Kenneth III., King of Scots, with the agree- 
ment that the latter should assist the former in repress- 
ing the disorders of his English subjects south of the 
Tweed ; and upon the further condition that the coun- 
try ceded should retain its own laws and customs, and 
its Angle or English language. This treaty was faith- 
fully observed, and it was this English of Eothian that 
became the national language of Scotland, or as we 
now term it, the Lowland Scotch. 

The international practice of lifting helped to swell 
the Saxon element upon the border. For instance, 
Malcolm the III., surnamed Conmore, in 1070 made a 
short and successful incursion into England, and re- 
turned home, says an English historian, leading captive 
such multitudes of young men and maidens that for 
many years they were to be found in every Scottish vil- 
lage, nay, even in every Scottish hovel. In those days 
raids upon cattle and herds are frequently mentioned, 
and we also learn that under Malcolm Conmore immense 



138 LOWIvAND SCOTCH DIAI.ECT. 

numbers of young men and women were lifted, as well 
as cattle, from the counties of Northumberland and 
Westmoreland. As Cumberland had been ceded with 
lyOthian to the King of the Scots, it was exempted from 
these terrible scourges. 

There were also many exiles from England by ex- 
patriation. At the time, especially, of the Conquest, 
great numbers of the English Saxons took refuge in 
Scotland from the merciless oppressions of the victori- 
ous Normans. Many of the fugitives were of the best 
and wealthiest classes, and not a few were of the high- 
est rank'. Among them were the most illustrious friends 
of the Saxon dynasty. The unfortunate Edgar Athel- 
ing, heir of the Saxon line, with the royal family, found 
safety alone in the Northern kingdom — and accompany- 
ing him were several noblemen — to escape the sanguin- 
ary pursuit of Norman rapacity. They were all 
received with great favor, and Malcolm chose for his 
wife Margaret, the sister of Edgar, who after the latter, 
was the only survivor of her dynasty to the throne upon 
which William had seated himself the year before. 
From this intermarrying sprang a line of Scota-Saxon 
kings, who were educated in the Inglis of the Northern 
land, which became the language of their courts and 
nobles, and of the great majority of their subjects. 
The aboriginal tongue was confined to the Gaelic popu- 
lations, who regarded the dynasty founded by Malcolm 
with a hatred that was cherished as the heirloom of 
successive generations. 

To the diverse races of men who had settled in Scot- 
land is also to be added the Normans, who soon after 
the Conquest established themselves in the strongholds 



I,OWI.AND SCOTCH DIALBCT. 139 

across the border, driven thence by the convulsions in 
England and the feudal iniquities of their princes. 
They were also attracted to Scotland by the liberal 
grants of lands belonging to the crown, for the Scottish 
King was anxious to promote the immigration of the 
Anglo-Normans with their arts and refinements into his 
own rude dominion in the North. These remarkable 
descendants from a Norse Viking had been at first the 
most daring adventurers, the most intrepid soldiers, and 
at last the most cultivated people on the Continent ; and 
had gone through Europe sword in hand, penetrating 
the steppes of Russia, sub j celled provinces in the king- 
dom of Naples, had formed the imperial guard of Con- 
stantinople, had erected the most brilliant dukedoms in 
France, and in the middle of the nth century had con- 
quered England and seated their chieftain upon its 
throne. Scotland was, perhaps, the only country which 
they entered as unprotected pilgrims, and without the 
thirst of pillage or conquest. That they crossed the 
border in considerable numbers, is manifest from the fact 
that at the Battle of the Standard, fought in 1138, they 
formed the second line in the Scottish army, and were 
clothed from head to foot in armor of steel. After enu- 
merating a multitude of families of Saxon, Anglo-Nor- 
man, and Flemish origin, who settled in every part of 
Scotland during the 12th century, the historian Chal- 
mer adds : ' ' Such were the men who governed Scot- 
land throughout the Scota-Saxon period, who formed 
her constitution and administered her laws, who estab- 
lished her church and transmitted her authorities, who 
vindicated her rights and restored her independence."* 

*Caledonia, Vol. I., p. 4, Chap. i. 



140 I,OWI.AND SCOTCH DIAI^I^CT. 

In a period of less than two centuries from the reign 
of Malcolm Conmore, these diverse races had almost 
completely assimilated into one homogeneous body. 
Constant intercourse and intermarriage had blended 
them so that the physical marks of the original types 
had softened the lines of distindlion between the Saxon, 
the Dane, the Scandinavian, and the Norman. Even 
the mediaeval characfteristics of the Celts were gradually 
yielding to this moulding process. The Scots and 
Johnstons, of the South, the Campbells and Camerons, 
of the West, the Douglasses and Hamiltons, of the 
interior, and the Norman Lindsays, not less than the 
Celtic Macphersons, were found in all the ranks and 
orders of society, fitting into their places under a civil 
polity that recognized no distindlion of classes, except 
those ordained by the constitution and laws. If they 
made war on each other it was, as the Earl of Douglass 
expressed it, to keep their hand in, in case a common 
enemy should turn up. English had become the ver- 
nacular of all classes. The Stuart kings wrote poetry 
in the Scots' dialedl. It had, of course, such peculiar- 
ities as circumstances introduced, and which procured 
for it the appellation of the ' ' Inglis of the Northern 
lycde." For instance, it abounded in Scandinavian 
words and sounds. A traveller in Poland, Russia, 
Sweden, and Denmark mentions this remarkable cir- 
cumstance : 

"During my progress through this kingdom (Sweden), I could 
not avoid being struck with a surprising resemblance between the 
English and Swedish languages, not only in single words, but in 
whole phrases, so that a quick English ear may comprehend many 
expressions in common conversation. Among other instances of 



LOWLAND SCOTCH DIALECT. I4I 

this kind, I heard the postilions cry out, ' Come, let us go '— ' let us 
see' — 'stand still '—' hold your tongue' — * go on.' I naturally 
inquired their meaning of my interpreter, and found that they had 
the same signification as in our own language. They are for the 
most part pronounced more like the Scottish than the English 
accent; and indeed, in general, the Swedes appear to me as if they 
were talking broad Scotch." 

This statement is accompanied with a foot-note, which I 
here reproduce: 

"A Swedish gentleman of my acquaintance made the same 
remark during a tour in Scotland ; that there was a much nearer 
resemblance between the Scotch and Swedish than between the 
Swedish and English, both in words and general pronunciation. 
The same gentleman also informed me that there are several obso- 
lete Swedish words which are very common in Scotland." 

Mr. Archdeacon Coxe, from whose travels the first 
of these citations is made, wrote in 1792, when perhaps 
the similarity was more obvious than at present ; and it 
is not improbable that the further we carry our inquiries 
into former times, the more apparent will this affinity 
become. 

It is also to be remembered that Scotland, being shut 
out from the southern part of the common island, natur- 
ally formed connedlions with the other kingdoms across 
the channel. Her intercourse with France, for example, 
introduced a large vocabulary of French words into the 
old diale(?t, which can yet be observed, like the half- 
effaced fleur de lis in Queen Mary's chapel. The 
Scottish clergy were generally educated at the Univer- 
sity of Paris ; the institution of the Scottish body-guard, 
and the settlement of Scots in France, and of the French 
in Scotland must have been the means of maintaining a 



142 I,OWI.AND SCOTCH DIAI^KCT. 

close and constant intercourse between the two countries, 
and inducing a diffusion of French words into the 
Scottish language ; and, indeed, these words and phrases 
are so numerous that they fill a large quarto volume, 
published by Francisque Michel in 1872. 

In contrasting the use of English, North and South, 
Sir Walter Scott observes : 

' ' In England the only persons who ventured to use the native 
language of the country, were certain monkish annalists, who usually 
think it necessary to inform us that they descended to so degrading 
a task out of pure charity, lowliness of spirit, and love to the lewd 
men, meaning the lower classes, who could not understand the Latin 
of the cloister, or the Anglo-Norman of the court. Even when the 
language was gradually polished, and became fit for the minstrels, 
the indolence and taste of that race of poets induced them to prefer 
translating the Anglo-Norman and French romances, which had stood 
the test of years, to the more precarious and laborious task of orig- 
inal composition. ^ ^ ^ While the king and nobles of England 
were amused by tales of chivalry composed in the French or 
Romance language, those which were chanted in the court of Scot- 
land must have been originally in Inglis. The English did not 
begin to translate these French poem.s till 1300, nor to compose 
original romances in their own language until, or near, a century 
later. But there is satisfactory evidence that long before this period 
several poets had already flourished in the court of Scotland." 

This statement prepares us to believe that the North- 
ern diale(5l had become the cultured idiom of Scotch poets 
and literature while it was still depressed by Norman 
influences in the neighboring kingdom. Indeed, the 
fa(ft has been noted by Mr. Weisse, that the English of 
the Scotch poets can be as readily understood as that of 
Chaucer, although they wrote at a prior period ; and 
in proof of it, he cites the following lines from the poem 



I.OWI.AND SCOTTCH DIAI^KCT. 143 

of John Barbour, written several years before the Can- 
terbury Tales : 

This was in midst of May, 
When birdis sing on ilka spray, 
Milland their notes with seemly soun 
For softness of the sweet seasoun, 
And leaves of the branchis spreeds 
And bloomis bright beside them breeds, 
And fieldis strawed are with flowrs, 
Well favored of their colours. 

It is interesting to observe that there is scarcely a ves- 
tige of the Anglo-Saxon inflexions in this brief passage, 
and in their place we have pronouns, prepositions, and 
articles. It also shows the plural s extended to all nouns 
of whatever gender, and that the past participle is the 
same in form as it is today, and the rhymes are just like 
those in Modern English. Indeed, the whole passage 
could be rendered into Modern English by assimilating 
a very few of its words to our orthography. 

The early development of the Northern diale<5l has 
been noticed by Mr. Murray in his learned treatise on the 
dialec1;s of the Southern counties of Scotland, where he 
says that the grammatical revolution began in the 9th and 
loth centuries, was completed in the North long before it 
had advanced to any extent in the South ; so that when 
the curtain rises over the Northern diale(5l in England, 
toward the close of the 13th century, and in Scotland 
nearly a hundred years later, the language had become 
as thoroughly uninfiexional as the Modern English, 
while the sister dialedl of the South retained, to a great 
extent, the noun, pronoun, and adjedlive declensions of 
the Anglo-Saxon. The same phenomenon of earlier 
development has been repeated in almost every subse- 



144 JOHN BARBOUR — " THK BRUCK." 

quent change wliicli the language has undergone. The 
South has been tenaciously conservative of old forms 
and usages. The North has inaugurated, often by 
centuries, nearly every one of those strucftural changes 
which have transformed the English of Alfred into 
English as it has been since the days of Shakespeare. 
Hence, of two contemporary writers, one Northern and 
the other Southern, the Englishman of today always 
feels the former the more modern, the nearer to him. 
Cursor Mundi and Barbour are indefinitely more intel- 
ligible to him than the Kentish Ayenbite of Inwyt. 

The present mould that I^owland Scotch has assumed 
is derived as far back, perhaps, as the War of Independ- 
ence, which gave to Scotland an undisputed nationality. 
That struggle is fertile with heroic deeds, furnishing 
inexhaustible materials for poetry and romancing pens. 
It is a grand historical picfture, and the poets, as usual, 
have the first word. In the latter quarter of the 14th 
century it became the theme of the most remarkable 
poem that had, down to that time, appeared either 
North or South. John Barbour, of Aberdeen, a prelate 
of high dignity, was the author. As already mentioned, 
he produced it as early as 1375, under the title of ''The 
Bruce." Chaucer was then, probably, engaged on his 
" House of Fame," or else he was still in Italy, and had 
not yet the dream of his Canterbury Tales. The Bruce 
is a copious repository of the achievements and life of 
Robert Bruce during the War of Independence. No 
accessory was wanting to the captivating subje6l, and 
the learned prelate laid down the crozier and seized the 
pen to celebrate the notable part his hero bore in that 
sanguinary contest. He paints the high charadter and 



, ''THE BRUCE." 145 

virtuous impulses of the valiant king, who, divested of 
selfish ambition, devoted his life to the rescue of his 
fellov/ countrymen from national and social inferiority, 
and whose only aim was the vindication of the kingly 
rights of the ancient stock from which he sprang, and 
the moral elevation of those who with himself partook 
in the natural heritage of life and personal happiness. 
Bruce is, therefore, the ideal King of Scotland, as Alfred 
was of England, holding the aegis of their wisdom and 
valor between the rights of their people and the usurpa- 
tions and conquests that would enslave them, and in 
both cases leading their countrymen to vi(5lory and 
independence. I take the following lines from Mr. 
Craik's sele<5tions, page 162, in which the poet vindicates 
the generous sentiment of freedom, so deeply engraven 
on the human heart, a passage that has often been 
quoted as one of the finest tributes ever laid on the 
shrine of patriotism : 

Ah ! freedom is a noble thing ! 
Freedom mays^ man to have liking- ; 
Freedom all solace to man gives. 
He lives at ease that freely lives ! 
A noble heart may have nane ease, 
Ne elles nought that may him please, 
Giff freedom faih^e^ for free liking 
Is yarnit^ ower^ all other thing. 
Ne he that aye has livit free 
May nought knaw well the property^, 
The anger, na the wretched doom 
That is conplit' to foul thirldoom. 
But giff he had assayit it. 
Then all perquer^ he suld it wit^, 
And suld think freedom mair to prize 
Then all the gold in world that is. 

I, makes ; 2, pleasure ; 3, fail ; 4, desired ; 5, over ; 6, condition of; 7, at- 
tached to ; 8, exactly ; g.^know. 



146 BARBOUR'S BRUCB. 

The Bruce still enjoys a very high degree of praise 
among students of Middle English, who analyze it for 
its harmonious flow and the rules of its metre and 
syntax, as well as for the distinguishing characfter- 
istics of its dialedl and vocabulary. Mr. Craik says 
that the language of Barbour is quite as intelligible 
at the present day to an English reader as that 
of Chaucer, that the obsolete words and forms are 
not more numerous in the one writer than in the 
other; some are used in one that are not to be found 
in the other; and that the chief general distincftion is 
the greater breadth given to the vowel sounds in the 
dialecfl of the Scottish poet. After comparing the 
two poets he adds, "But there is no other English 
poet down to a century and a half after their day 
who can be placed by the side of the one any more 
than of the other." 

Barbour's Bruce derives its importance from the fac5l 
that it is probably the earliest epic in our language. 
As before remarked, history presents itself first in 
poetry. Prose comes later, with its critical acumen, 
and details with minuteness the conditions of a period 
or the affairs and passions of successive generations. 
The Iliad and Odyssey are separated from Herodotus 
and Thucydides by nearly five centuries, and The Bruce 
came two centuries before Buchanan. It is not written 
in the dry, formal manner of the Rhyming Chronicles. 
Its many admirable verses, its magnanimous sentiments, 
its lofty patriotism, gave the poem great favor with his 
countrymen, while it describes the deeds and manners 
of their forefathers with epic force and delicacy. In 
speaking of this poem, Dr. Irving cites from Pinkerton 



WICKI^IFFK. 147 

the following passage, which will close our remarks 
upon this subject : 

"Here, indeed, the reader will find few of the graces of fine 
poetry, little of the Attic dress of the Muse, but here are life and 
spirit, and ease, and plain sense, and pictures of real manners, and 
perpetual incident, and entertainment. The language is remarka- 
bly good for the time, and far superior, in neatness and elegance, 
even to that of Gavin Douglass, who wrote more than a century 
after." 

It was about the same time, or perhaps a little later 
in the century, that a writer and scholar appeared in the 
person of the great reformer, Wickliffe. Among his 
many works stands preeminent his translation of the 
Bible (1380). It consisted of the books of the New 
Testament and a portion of the Old. He adopted the 
language of his mother tongue, and the diffusion of his 
work exerted an immense influence in establishing our 
rich and pidluresque style of Scriptural phraseology. 
The translation seems to have been extensively copied, 
for circulation among the people, and the manuscripts 
are still very numerous. It is evident from a compari- 
son that the style of this early translation was sanc- 
tioned, if not adopted, in the authorized version of 161 1. 
Take, for example, the parallel passages in the account 
given by the evangelist, of Christ cleansing the leper : 

Wickliffe. Version of 161 1. 

Forsothe when Jhesus hadde When he v/as come down from 

comen doun fro the hil, many the mountain, great multitudes 

cumpanyes fole-vv'iden hyni. followed him. And, behold, 

And loo ! a leprouse m.an cumm- there came a leper and wor- 

ynge worshipide hym, sayinge : shiped, saying : Lord, if thou 

Lord yif thou wolt, thou maist wilt, thou canst make me clean, 

makemeclene. And Jhesus hold- And Jesus put forth his hand 



I4S WICKIvIFFK. 

ynge forthe the hond, touchide and touched him, saying: I will; 

hym, sayinge: I wole ; be thou be thou clean. And immediately 

maad clene. And anoon the his leprosy was cleansed. And 

lepre of hym was clensid. And Jesus saith unto him : See thou 

Jhesus saith to hym: See, say tell no man, but go thy way; 

thou to no man ; but go, she we shew thyself to the priest, and 

thee to prestis, and offre that gifte offer the gift that Moses com- 

that Moyses comaundide, into manded, for a testimony unto 

witnessing to hem. them. 

This is the only English translation that existed 
until Tyndale's, 150 years later. Other compositions 
soon followed that of Tyndale, such as Matthew's Bible 
in 1537, Cromwell's Bible in 1539, Cranmer's Bible in 
the same year, and the Genvan Bible in 1560. These 
translations were all based to a greater or less extent 
upon the Wickliffe rendering. Of course, in the period 
that elapsed from his produdlion to the time of Tyndale, 
some progress is visible ; but they all display the same 
pathos and simplicity which presided over the sacred 
dialecft that he pradliced, and which our language still 
guards with jealous care. Moreover, our Bible was 
born into our language amidst the fires of persecution. 
It was the first great reformatory movement in England, 
as Luther's Bible was in Germany at a subsequent 
period of 250 years. The life of Wickliffe was only 
saved because the king was his friend, and the prime 
minister stood by his side when summoned to account 
for his heresies against the church, just as Luther was 
so long afterwards placed for safety by the Elector of 
Saxony in the strong defences of Wartburg. But Tyn- 
dale, less fortunate, was burned at the stake; and big- 
otry became engrafted upon religious hatred, and uni- 
formity to the requirements of ecclesiastical authority 



WICKI.IFFK. 149 

was enforced with appalling vehemence. It was more 
dangerous in those days to translate the Bible into the 
language of the people, than it is now to translate it for 
the heathen. Even so liberal a man as Sir Thomas 
More considered Tyndale as the son of the devil in hell. 
The religious views of Wickliffe were stern, but 
simple. He denied the infallibility of the Pope, and 
of Councils, and held the Scriptures to be the rule of 
doctrine and faith, and that priests had no power to 
absolve from sin ; that external rites were matters 
of form, that religion was in the heart and soul, in the 
conscience and practice ; and that the right of inquiry 
was conferred b}^ God on all his children, and much 
more to the same effect. He gave currenc3^ to these 
view^s in several theological treatises, and finall}^ com- 
pleted his translation of the Bible for circulation among 
the common people. Our knowledge of historical fa(fts 
sheds light upon the works of Wickliffe. He was an 
adventurous thinker, for he alone of his age proposed 
this creed so tolerant, and likewise containing the germ 
of enlarged religious liberty touching the most sacred 
rights of man. It was almost identical with the ground- 
work of the great Reformation in the i6th century. His 
followers were, at first, prote(5led by many powerful per- 
sonages, who envied the wealth of the church, and who, 
under an ostentatious parade of phrases about reform, 
and a sickly sentimentality of equivocal respecft for the 
priesthood, desired nothing so much as to despoil them 
of their immense possessions. The Lollards, as the 
se(5l was called, increased in numbers and influence, 
but on the death of their leader, Wickliffe, a violent 
readlion befell them. It is calculated that during this 



150 I.OI.I.ARDS. 

period not less than one hundred of their number were 
burned at the stake. In the intolerant spirit which pre- 
vailed, we find that every precept which claimed a 
higher source than human wisdom, instead of instilling 
the perfe(5l harmony on earth claimed for them from 
above, was invoked in aid of oppressions that cried 
aloud to the ear of our common humanity. Whether a 
dialedl consisting of pra3^ers in the open air, or the 
chanting of sacred melodies outside the walls of a 
church by these grim, and, perhaps, sour-visaged 
votaries, rendered them justly odious and ridiculous, or 
not, the churchmen affedled to think their vernacular, 
their manners, and their persons fair game for unmeas- 
ured derision and persecution. It is certain, however, 
that we cannot look back without horror at the gratified 
complacency of their persecutors, or the sanguinary 
measures taken by the church for their extirpation. 
Of course the lyollards were got rid of. The times were 
not ripe for the docftrines of Wickliffe; but the belief 
that had become fixed in so many earnest and austere 
minds weathered the storms, and moved the people of 
England for three centuries, like the billows of a storm, 
that finally burst in revolution and blood. 

The citations from the New Testament already given 
are specimens of the whole of the Wickliffe manuscripts, 
as well as of the authorized version. The translation 
consists of six thousand words, and of these scarcely 
three hundred have become obsolete, or tend to obsoles- 
cence, since 161 1, and it is throughout still perfe(5lly 
intelligible ; and it continues to afiec5t us all by its 
uncommon beauty and marvelous English, and yet no 
book ever swarmed with such innumerable errata. The 



ENGlvISH BIBI^ES. 15 ^ 

author of the ' ' Curiosities of Literature ' ' has many 
examples of this extraordinary state of the English 
Bible. He thinks that these errata were, in a great 
part, voluntary commissions, passages interpolated, and 
meanings forged for certain purposes, sometimes with 
an intention to destroy all Scriptural authority by a con- 
fusion, or by an omission of texts — the w^hole was left 
open to the option or the malignit}" of editors, who, 
probably like certain ingenious wine merchants, con- 
trived to accommodate ' ' the waters of life ' ' to their 
customer's peculiar taste. They had also a project of 
printing Bibles as cheapl}^ and in a form as contradled 
as they possibl}^ could for common circulation, that is, 
in epitomes and abridgments, so that they proceeded 
till they nearl}^ ended by having no Bible at all. 

Indeed, this extraordinary attempt on the English 
Bible began before the dethronement of Charles I., at 
a period when secftarianism ran the highest, and the 
volume was hourly in request for the decision of all 
questions, civil as well as religious. Even those who 
were dignified with the title of His Majesty's Printers 
were among these manufacfturers, for we have an 
account of a scandalous omission by them of the impor- 
tant negative in the seventh commandment, making this 
precept read, "Thou shalt do so and so," instead of 
" Thou shalt 7iot do so and so." 

The learned Usher, one day hastening to preach at 
Paul's Cross, entered the shop of one of the stationers, 
as booksellers were then called, and, inquiring for a 
Bible of the London Edition, when he came to look for 
his text, to his horror and astonishment he discovered 
that the verse was omitted from the Bible. 



152 l^NGIvISH BIBI^KS. 

Another source of adulteration and corruption of the 
text sprang :from the competition of speculators, who 
printed Bibles in Holland in the English language, and 
with most extraordinary variations from the inspired 
phraseology. They were printed in the duodecimo 
form, and occasionally were seized as contraband and 
destroyed. Upon one occasion an invoice of 12,000 of 
these Dutch-English Bibles were seized as contraband. 
At another, a large impression was burned by order 
of the Assembly of Divines for these errors : Gen. 
xxxvi. 21, because an ass was named instead of a 
mule; and in Ruth iv. 13, the word corruption was 
used instead of conception; and in Luke xxi. 23, the 
word condemnation was used instead of redemption. 
These errors were none of the printers, but, as a writer 
of the times expresses it, egregious blasphemies to sanc- 
tion the creed of some new and half-hatched docftrine. 

The Pearl Edition was an odlavo volume, and con- 
tained the most memorable errata, of which the follow- 
ing are specimens: Romans vi. 13, ** Neither yield 
ye your members as instruments of righteousness unto 
sin," for unrighteousness; First Corinthians vi. 9, 
' * Know ye not that the unrighteous shall inherit the 
kingdom of God, ' ' for shall not inherit. 

In one of the editions of this same Bible, the author 
already quoted affirms that it contains six thousand 
faults, some of which were the offspring of ignorance 
and negligence, but others willful adulterations of the 
bread of eternal life. 



CHAPTER VII. 

MIDDLE ENGLISH— CONTINUED— 1350-1550. 

1. Chaucer. 3. Latin and Anglo-Saxon Inflex- 

2. Langland. ions. 

It was also during this period that a great poet arose 
who was not only the glory of the English language, 
but who placed his name in the transcendent list of the 
most inspired men of that age, where Dante, Boccaccio, 
and Petrarch were his only companions. To this day 
his Canterbury Tales have lost nothing of their fresh- 
ness and originality. Out of the consonantal forms of 
his native idiom, he created a language so simple, and 
at the same time expressive, and a metre so noble and 
flexible, that he carried it at once to a marvelous degree 
of perfedlion. 

The progress of our literature is undoubtedly the 
produdl of instrumentalities that no individual influence 
could control, but if ever it could be said that any man 
had been the first to dispose of words with a justness 
and order required for the incomparable expression of 
emotion and thought, that man was beyond all others 
Geoffrey Chaucer. For two centuries many works had 
been put forth containing what may be called the rudi- 
ments of our language, and these compositions in our 
nascent tongue are now sought out by the philologist for 
the earliest terms of its youth. It was far otherwise with 



154 CHAUCER. 

Chaucer. He was cultivated from his cradle, and from his 
experience in the poetic art, as well as from his philo- 
logical knowledge of French, Latin, and Italian litera- 
tures, he was able to seize the mysterious correspondence 
of language, and the subtile shades of meaning that dis- 
tinguish words. With these advantages he combined 
the power of mellifluous rhymes, to excite pleasing im- 
pressions on the senses, and to awaken noble sentiments 
and trains of thought. He has by his superior force 
and grace given our language a classical stamp, which 
his popularity as a poet has confirmed. Even William 
Langland, the author of Piers the Plowman, who was 
his contemporary, adhered to old forms to such an extent 
that when that famous poemx is compared with the Can- 
terbury Tales it seems like going back to the days of prime- 
val English. It is so archaic that Mr. Skeat, in his re- 
cent edition of that work, has accompanied it with a glos- 
sarial index containing nearly, if not quite, all the words 
in its verses, and explanatory notes that occupy about 
as much space as the original. The poems of Chaucer, 
written about the same time, have almost the appearance 
of a modern produ(5lion ; the inflexions are dropped, the 
syntax, though somewhat defedlive, is clearly good 
English, and the present use of the article is extensively, 
if not exclusively, introduced. There is a noble simplic- 
ity in the style and versification, that have ever since been 
called by his name, and are still often employed in our 
best poetr}^ 

On the other hand, Langland has such an affecfta- 
tion of antiquated words and idioms that he repre- 
sents a Semi-Saxon diale(5l rather than the improve- 
ments that had been made by one hundred years of 



I.ANGI.AND. 155 

English use, and his remarkable preference for the allit- 
erative style of the Anglo-Saxon poets interferes with the 
freedom that was then moulding our vernacular into 
modes of natural and easy expression. Nor is his reac- 
tionary influence confined to an arbitrary succession of 
words with the same beginning, but also to a constrained 
and unnatural order of language, which not infrequently 
produces an incongruity between the sentiments and the 
expressions that should convey them, and thus the gen- 
eral tenor of the verse becomes obscure and perplexed. 
Langland was a great satirist and a genius. If he was 
a churchman, he was much more an Englishman, and 
the church and the clergy are the special objecfts of his 
satire. He does not appear to have been in favor with 
the religious orders, for on all occasions he speaks of 
their luxury, sensualit}^ and pride, and laments their 
lack of knowledge in all things. He often reproaches 
them for their neglecft of duty and their want of godli- 
ness. In no instance does he light up the somber pic- 
ture with a gleam of sunshine. No good priest as in 
the Canterbury Tales, no sweet and cheerful face like 
that of Chaucer's Prioresse, and no noble charadler like 
that of the Knight's tale in the same inimitable collec- 
tion. All is severe and harsh. The men he describes 
are hard and selfish, and the women cold and unfemi- 
nine, except in the allegorical characters; but all the 
scenes are set in lines of bold relief and uncommon 
energy ; yet the poem as a whole is an epitome of the 
bad side of the times, and the depravity of all classes in 
the community. It is not a pleasing picfture to look at, 
it is not a pleasing poem to read. But with all these 
drawbacks, one thing stands clearly in the foreground ; 



156 I.ANGI.AND. 

it is written in Saxon-English, which had then become 
a national language, and will hence take its place among 
the tongues of Europe. It is still difficult for us to read 
it, and still more difficult for us to pronounce it. How 
it sounded when uttered by the people for whom it was 
written, is a mystery which even Mr. Ellis has not under- 
taken to explain. 

The most prominent institution in existence was the 
church, and the various orders connecfled with it. The 
latter were very numerous, and monks and nuns consti- 
tuted no inconsiderable portion of the people. William, 
the author of the poem, was himself a guasz-member of 
some religious order, but his satire was principally 
dire(5led against the ignorance, sloth, and evil practices 
of the various classes that infested the sacred offices of 
religion. The man was evidently penetrated with a 
profound sense of the prevailing weakness in church 
and state, and, seeing it from his point of view, he lays 
it bare to the scrutinizing eye of public reprobation. 
I do not know of a sterner exposition of the vices than 
is displayed in his visions. The allegory was at that 
time resorted to for the purpose of conveying moral 
instrudlion, and although it is a clumsy contrivance for 
any literary purpose, it is generally admitted to have 
been handled with great force by William concerning 
Piers the Plowman. There is no greater display of its 
capacity for poetical work than in this wonderful poem. 
"Pilgrim's Progress" and the "Faery Queen" alone 
outrival it. The old Semi-Saxon was the source from 
which he drew his vocabulary. We have, therefore, 
Saxon alliteration and grammatical forms which were, 
in fadl, dying out. The work abounds in the old infiex- 



CHAUCER. 157 

ions, which it is needless to go over again, and although 
it is admitted on all hands to be a graphic pidlure of the 
age, portraying its manners, its vices, and the various 
orders into which society was divided, it accomplished 
nothing for the language beyond showing that the 
native authors could write vigorously in their own 
tongue. Besides, there is about the work an air of 
honest indignation at the prevailing corruption that 
leaves no doubt of the truthfulness of his representa- 
tions. The fa(5l stands glaringly out that all the grades 
of society" were demoralized, from the highest to the 
lowest, and the religious professions were, perhaps, the 
worst of all. It is a great historical pi(5lure, where 
the shadow^s are deeper than the background, and the 
light and shade are obscured by the dark and dismal 
clouds that overhang the landscape. 

Fortunately, education and society contributed their 
influences in the development of Chaucer. His early 
years were employed in authorship. When quite a 
youth he wrote his first original poem, ' ' The Court of 
Love." At the same time he was translating "The 
Roman of Rose," a metrical story in the French, of 
great current popularity. Another work ascribed to 
his youth was the translation of Boethius from the 
Latin on the consolations of philosophy, a book which 
Alfred the Great had translated five hundred years 
before into Anglo-Saxon. This process of verbal dis- 
integration for the purpose of reconstru(5ling the French 
and Latin versions into an English garb, exercised him 
in the use of language, and of substituting words for 
words, without the variation of sense that a translation 
generally betrays. It involved the use of two distindl 



15^ CHAUCER. 

languages besides his own, and a knowledge of their 
synta(5tical construdlion, and a proper consideration of 
such words as are remarkably synonymous. No exer- 
cise could have prepared him as well for the task of 
forming his mother tongue from the different dialects 
that compose it, and for transforming it into clear and 
forcible English. The most marked produdlions of 
Chaucer as a poet, after his "Court of Love," were the 
"Assembly of Fowles, or the Parliament of Birds," in 
the form of a dream ; next the ' ' Complaint of the Black 
Knight," also in the form of a dream. They seem to 
have been written under the impulse of ideal concep- 
tions of love, and in the midst of enthusiastic hopes, 
inspired by cheerful and passionate affe(5lion for his 
work. The structure of his verse is very harmonious, 
arranged in stanzas of seven lines, and of a peculiar 
metre, which seems to have been invented by himself, 
and which, therefore, bears his name. It was after- 
wards adopted by him in some of the Canterbury Tales ; 
the "Clerk's Tale" and the poem of " Troilus and 
Cresseide" being fine examples of this stanza. 

These early poems have affinities with the French 
style which pervaded the fashionable literature of the 
period. The sentiment of love was conventionalized by 
the trouveres and troubadours into an exadl art, and the 
poets were supposed to excel in its rules. Courts of 
Love were convened to decide questions of love, as if 
Cupid fired his arrows by the rules of geometr3^ In 
seeking the ideal, they corrupted its delicacy by strained 
and unnatural sentiments. Insensible to the fine tem- 
perament which is penetrated with a religious admira- 
tion for its real beauty, the trouveres and troubadours 



CHAUCKR. 159 

sang of love only for amusement. The natural and pro- 
found instincfts of Chaucer raised him above this shallow- 
ness ; nor did he resort to elegance of language to dis- 
simulate habitual vices, or to affecSl sensibilities that are 
as far from truth as from genuine feeling. On the other 
hand, his views of life are thoroughly domestic and 
sacred, and he describes his women with the reverence 
and tenderness of a true and noble nature. There are 
two periods usually ascribed to Chaucer's works, those 
that were written under French influence being the first, 
and those belonging to the second period, commencing 
after his return from Italy in 1373, and after his other 
visits to that country, extending to 138 1. It was then 
that a change came over the spirit of his dreams, as is 
claimed, and the French influence no longer predomi- 
nates in his poetry. Professor Ten Brink has added 
a third period, that relates to the writings of his later 
life, when his genius had reached its fullest maturity 
and performed its most original work. It is, however, 
suggested that, after all, these distindlions are owing to 
the spontaneous growth of his mind more than to the 
immediate influence from the intelleclual bias of foreign 
examples, and account for his originality as an author, 
and the wonderful beauty which vitalizes his effusions 
from first to last. However this may be, it is indis- 
putable that, although Chaucer belonged to the race 
once dominant in England, he belonged more essen- 
tially to himself. He was as English in his thoughts 
and affedlions as the humblest peasant in the land, and 
in his works he was as English as those of Saxon blood, 
although he has transmitted to us many words from the 
ancient dialedl of his Norman forefathers. It is esti- 



i6o 



CHAUCE^R. 



mated that he introduced into his Canterbury Tales not 
less than two or three thousand words from the Norman- 
French, many of them being of I^atin origin. Dr. 
Weisse gives a list of one hundred of these words, of 
which thirty-seven have been slightly changed in termi- 
nations, while sixty- three are now exacftly the same in 
French and English as they were prior to the 14th cen- 
tury. And it is thought that a like investigation into 
the whole two or three thousand w^ould tend to a similar 
result. Undoubtedly he was of Norman lineage, and 
was well read in the Norman- French literature, which 
at that time was probably the finest form of literary com- 
position, and contained the historical romances that con- 
stituted the reading material of the English nobility. 
There was no mode of improving the English, except 
by going back to the rude forms of the 12th and 13th 
centuries, or by resorting to the Norman- French, then 
the most polished language of Europe. By inclination 
and taste, Chaucer adopted the latter from which to 
draw such words as he wanted, and for this he has been 
criticised from his own day to ours. But when we con- 
sider the age and the influences then at work, we must 
conclude that his choice was made with judgment, and 
the words he introduced were selecfted with taste. 

We are at a loss to account for the manner in 
which he has been criticised for his use of Norman- 
French words. They are now of common occurrence, 
and we can scarcely conceive how we could spare them. 
They are found in all our di(5lionaries, and form no in- 
considerable portion of our common talk. We speak in 
English, but it is composed of words taken from all the 
languages in the world, and it is astonishing that the 



THK FRENCH LANGUAGE. l6l 

number of Norman- French words is not more numer- 
ous, for it was the language of the great bulk of Eng- 
lishmen who had been educated either at home or in 
France. It was the language of the court, of the law, 
of the bar, of the bench, and of the nobility. The chil- 
dren w^ere educated in French, and there must have 
been a large colloquial use of its terms among all classes. 
It is not, therefore, surprising that it was introduced 
into the forms of the English tongue at an early day, 
but it would be indeed surprising had it been otherwise. 
The remark that Anglo-Saxon is the basis of English is 
quite true, but at the same time it is equally true that 
the Norman- French formed a part of the material out of 
which it was construcrted. The great number of French 
words now found in our language is owing to the f ac5l that 
it is a very great benefit to have the povv^er of naturaliz- 
ing words from a language that has been so long culti- 
vated by its authors and scholars, till it is probably one 
of the most perfedl forms of speech since the days of 
Greece and Rome. Its vocabulary has been enriched 
with synonyms, and rendered fit for every form of ex- 
pressing thought and conveying knowledge. All its 
forms of syntax have been wrought into a S3^stem of in- 
flexion, the freest of all from the perplexing rules of 
those languages that express meaning by the ending of 
words instead of pointing out their relation by a prepo- 
sition or an article, and the whole strucfture of the lan- 
guage is thus rendered simple and expressive. In the 
Greek and Roman tongues this was done by a system 
of inflexion by which the root of the word was added to 
a great number of endings, to vary the mood, tense, and 
time in the case of a verb ; and in nouns the termina- 



l62 ANGI.O-SAXON INFI^BXIONS. 

tions decided their case, number, and gender, while in 
adje(5lives the same form was observed, and the various 
conjugations and declensions constituted a species of 
limitation to grammatical rules that it usually took our 
school-boys several years to learn, and, indeed, not a few 
failed even then to acquire them. The French, which 
is an offshoot of the Latin, gradually relieved itself of 
this cumbersome method of construdlion and placed 
its words in the natural order of expression, connect- 
ing them by particles so as to express clearly the mean- 
ing of the writer or speaker by the logical arrangement of 
the sentence. We are not surprised, therefore, that the 
French was often preferred to the Anglo-Saxon, for the lat- 
ter, on the other hand, had cultivated the infiedted forms 
of speech to a most absurd extent. Its parts of speech 
were nearly all inflected, that is, the grammatical meaning 
of words was determined by the terminations, as in the 
classical tongues, only the Anglo-Saxon was much more 
complicated with forms and distinctions of various kinds. 
For instance : it had four declensions for nouns, two for 
adjedlives and articles, and adverbs take the case end- 
ings of nouns, and each of these was again distinguished 
by peculiarities of being strong or weak, masculine, 
feminine or neuter, and the whole was burdened with a 
vowel system of great intricacy and euphonic changes, 
that could only be understood by those who made the 
language a long and profound study. With these dis- 
advantages, it is a very extraordinary circumstance that 
the Anglo-Saxon was able to hold its ground against a 
rival so much its superior in simplicity and literary ex- 
cellence. But when writers in Early English began to 
use their native tongue, the prejudice against the Nor- 



CHAUCKR. 163 

man oppression had not died out, and they wrote for 
men who cared more for their vernacular than for the 
refinements of the ruling and oppressing race. They, 
however, used but few of the Saxon inflexions, and 
supplied their places with prepositions and other parti- 
cles, after the manner of the Anglo-Norman. This 
process of discarding the old inflexions continued till 
Chaucer appeared, and the last vestiges of their existence 
still linger in his pages. Now, I repeat that it is really 
astonishing that the Norman could not infuse much 
more of his dialect into the language in its earliest 
stages, and that the Anglo-Saxon withstood so great a 
pressure, and survived the contest of centuries. We 
can only account for this phenomenon by supposing 
that the reforming hand of its great writers gradually 
emancipated it from the shackles of Anglo-Saxon inflex- 
ions, and set it free to contest the field with its great 
rival, which had cleared its grammar of a similar in- 
heritance from its I^atin original. Perhaps it was 
Chaucer who gave the finishing blow to this reform 
and reduced the uncouth English of lyangiand to 
a form almost classical in his flowing and graceful 
style. 

Chaucer lived in a great age. It was the age of Pe- 
trarch, of Boccaccio, of Machiavelli; and Dante had but 
just finished his career. The world had, taken a long 
step in advance, and had shown a wonderful indifference 
to mere military achievement. The court of Edward 
III., the king, was a very brilliant one, and grand state 
occasions were still held for the display of surpassing 
magnificence and feats at arms. All that was brave or 
beautiful gathered in the royal palace. Chaucer was 



164 CHAUCER. 

honored by the king ; hivS kinsmen were in the highest 
places, and exercised the greatest influence. John of 
Gaunt was related to him by marriage, and the king's 
other son, Prince I^ionel, who died when young, was 
his friend and companion. He rode in the king's reti- 
nue, and accompanied him in his war with France, when 
he was taken prisoner, but reached home in safety. 
He was a scholar by education, a poet by nature, 
and an Englishman by birth and feeling. His great 
work was the Canterbury Tales, a collection of prose 
and verse that relates the adventures of various persons, 
who represent most every class of society as it then ex- 
isted, and every condition of life in w^hich men and 
women were found. The colledlion begins with a Pro- 
logue, but the first of the Tales is that of the Knight^ 
while the last one is Persones Tale in prose ; the whole 
colledlion consists of twenty-four pieces, including the 
Prologue. The many editions of these delightful stories 
leave little or nothing to add to what has already been 
said by others. I may observe, however, that the char- 
acter of the whole work is of a kind that brings us into 
direcft contadl with the period of our language when it 
had passed through the rude forms of its early appear- 
ance, and had taken on a gloss of refinement and 
polish that made it a suitable dialedl for the poet or 
the scholar. 

In 1373 Chaucer was first sent into Italy on the 
king's business. The mention made of this visit is very 
brief, but it is known that he was at Genoa and Flor- 
ence, at Venice and Padua. At the latter place Pe- 
trarch, the greatest lyric poet of the age, was spending 
his last days. That he conversed with him is evident 



CHAUCBR. 165 

from a passage in the Prologue to the Clerk's Tale, in 
which that personage is made to say, — 

I wol you tell a tale, which that I 
Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk, 
As proved by his wordes and his werk. 
Fraunces Petrark, the laureaut poete, 
Highte this clerk whos rethorike swete 
Emlumined all Itaille of poetrie. 

About the same time Boccaccio, in the sixty-second 
year of his age, and within two of "his death, was in 
Florence, — 

Along the banks, where smiling Arno sweeps, 

Was modern luxury of commerce born, 

And buried learning rose redeemed to a new morn. 

He had bewitched and fascinated his countrymen by 
the interest of his stories and the beauty of his style. 
Many of the Chaucerian critics claim that the Canter- 
bur}^ Tales are imitations of the Decameron, and that 
some of them are Anglicized versions from the Italian, 
among others the story of Palamon and Arcite in the 
Knighfs Tale. 

Prompted by his own sympathies, he would natur- 
ally visit Rome, at that time the most extraordinary city 
in the world, where all the current ideas of the 14th 
century were exchanged by men of different countries, 
and of different habits, and who had probably nothing 
in common except the desire of knowledge and a love 
of the classical remains of antiquity ; and where ama- 
teurs and artists, poets and orators, priests and scholars 
jostled each other in the centre of cultivated intelligence. 
To an influence so favorable to his talents, he may have 



i66 



CHAUCi^R. 



been greatly indebted for the style of his future works. 
He had written with success of his dreams and allego- 
ries, but in the Italian masters he found the delineation 
of life, of characfter, and of the living manners, and how 
men of human mould had loved and suffered. Instead 
of the fantasies of dreams, this literature offered the 
phases of humor, the contrasts of passion, of raillery, 
and the minute observation of passing realities. This 
presented a wider field for the pradlical genius of 
Chaucer than the contemporaneous literature of France, 
and he is, perhaps, henceforth indebted to Italian 
sources for his inspiration, and sometimes even for the 
plan of his tales. This influence increased until his 
visit to Italy in 1381. Dante died five years before 
Chaucer was born, but his lines were repeated every- 
where, and his language had moulded the Italian tongue. 
Chaucer witnessed his fame, and heard his grand epics 
in the salons of the great, and in the popular dialedls of 
the people. It is contended that his " House of Fame " 
is an imitation of the Divine Comedy. Morley thinks 
that his Troilus and Cresseide is a free version of Boc- 
caccio's "Flostrato," and that two of the Canterbury 
Tales can be traced to the same source. It is easy to 
recognize a resemblance, and we often compare a book 
we are reading with one by a famous author. 

Few works are entirely spontaneous ; they are gen- 
erated like the successive races of men, and the fittest 
survive as the germ of new inspirations. With men like 
Chaucer, the story is a mere incident, upon which they 
engraft their own individuality. They describe them- 
selves in the ideal sense of what they would like to be, 
and without imitating its disorders or immorality, they 



CHAUCER. 167 

elevate the fable from the inexhaustible materials of 
their own imagination. In their passages of love and 
crime, of shame and glory, of transcendent virtue and 
surpassing cruelty, they reveal a scene of fascinating 
reality, which their own originality peoples with beings 
that resemble ourselves, and where an ideal destiny 
redresses and rewards their conducft. Their works 
stand in matchless relief among the adlual pidlures of 
the times in which they lived. The Canterbury Tales 
is the work of his last years, and was evidently prepared 
with more care and labor than his other poems. He was 
in the full maturity of his life, and left the work unfinished 
at his death. The idea of the work is very simple, like 
all those of true genius. It is to paint the life by which 
he was surrounded. A number of pilgrims meet acci- 
dentally at the Tabard tavern, in London, on their way 
to the shrine of Thomas a Becket, at Canterbury, and 
the poet is himself of the number. In the conversation 
which takes place, the host proposes that, in order to 
cheer the journey, each should relate a story on going, 
and another on returning, and he who told the best story 
should have his supper at the expense of the others. 
This being agreed to, the host is himself selecfted as the 
guide and judge of the various performances. This 
arrangement recalls the Hundred Tales in the Decam- 
eron of Boccaccio, which, he pretends, were related by a 
company of seven ladies and three gentlemen, in a beau- 
tiful garden in Florence, who had withdrawn to that 
safe retreat during the terrible plague of 1348-9. But 
in the English tales we observ^e none of the licentious- 
ness which disfigures the Italian, except a few vul- 
garisms in the comic characters. There is only the 



i68 



CHAUCER. 



resemblance which results from a connedled series of 
stories under a common title. 

In the numerous histories of English literature, the 
Canterbury Tales have been so often described that they 
must be quite familiar to most people who read at all. 
They have found learned commentators in the philologi- 
cal scholars of England and the United States. They 
have been made special studies, and the Chaucerian 
literature forms no inconsiderable portion of modern 
erudition. They were read by Shakespeare, who drew 
from them several of his plots. Spenser cites Chaucer 
with delight, and Milton refers to him with affectionate 
respect ; Dryden and Pope have rendered some of his 
pieces into Modern English. There has been a very 
remarkable revival of desire for Chaucer in our own 
day. His text has been corre(5led, glossaries and 
explanatory notes have given a full exposition of his 
works, more especially the Tales. There is a wonder- 
ful beauty flowing from his pen, and his universal 
sympathy makes him akin to us all. He softens the 
ordinary occurrences of life with the glow of fic5lion. 
The poet describes what he has seen, thoiigh the scene 
which he represents, and the charadlers he portrays, 
are the pure creations of his sportive fancy. Every line 
wears the air of truth. No landscape painting could be 
more pidluresque than the opening lines to the Prologue. 
The various conversations of the pilgrims, so widely 
different in their temper, education, and ways of life, are 
precisely such as the persons composing the company 
would be most likely to express. Each characfter fits 
precisely into his place in the general design, as if it 
were a drama. The whole is varied in subject and 



CHAUCKR. 169 

beauty. Each pilgrim is so distindl that he passes almost 
visibl}^ before the eye, and stands out in salient contrast to 
all the others. The gallant Knight tells of noble deeds, 
delights in magnanimity, and is a union of courage and 
gentleness, telling his story as if he had stepped out of 
Homer's Iliad. There is also the Nonnes Preestes Tale, 
and that of the Prioresse, with pretty manners, and sen- 
timental withal, as would appear from the motto on her 
broche, amor omnia vincit. The Wife of Bath is shrewd, 
coarse, and merry, and even indelicate ; and Mine Host of 
the Tabard is bluff and humorous. The proud monk and 
the humble parson alternate with the learning and pov- 
erty of the scholar. The tales of the Miller, the Clerk, 
the Man of Laws, the Merchant, the Sompnour, and the 
Freres are consistent throughout, and sit as fine examples 
of their state and class, while the rude and comic por- 
traits of the inferior characters are so admirably con- 
trasted with each other that they seem to belong to the 
life and history of the time of which they form a living 
pi(flure. The whole is set off with his grand imagina- 
tion, and his quaint and exquisite humor. Useful 
precepts are interspersed with wise suggestions, that 
proceed from the vital principle of his moral life. How 
he must have enjoyed his own quaint and ridiculous 
images, and we all along join in his mirth, as if we 
formed a part of the imaginary scene he so kindly 
delineates. He is of large and generous soul, warmed 
with the old Norman splendor, but without any trace of 
its carnivorous taste for blood. Living in a material 
age, he lifted himself above its grossness, and never 
debased his thoughts by playing the parasite of wealth 
or power. Sincere and affecflionate, a lover and a poet, 



I/O CHAUCi^R. 

he kept open the sources of wisdom and virtue to the 
last. 

It is a remarkable circumstance that in all his larger 
poems he neither celebrates the king nor his nobles, 
nor does he speak of the achievements of warriors, or of 
men distinguished in civil affairs. Although belonging 
to the Royal Court, he was no courtier, but turned away 
from that accomplished atmosphere, and devoted his 
greatest work to descriptions of ordinary life and ordi- 
nary people. There is no attempt to gain favor by 
pandering to the ambition of power, nor to fawn upon 
those in high places. It would seem from this circum- 
stance that as early as the 14th century the people were 
a body whom it was safe to invest with the charms of 
poetry, and to make of them a theme of the highest and 
best literary work that had been produced in England. 
It is a circumstance equally singular that this course of 
the poet excited no prejudice against him, nor did it 
affect the good will of the king, or of his court, for he 
was employed in public service, and enjoyed pensions 
of various kinds from the royal bounty to the last, and 
his best and most intimate friends were of the king's 
household. This is remarkable as showing the growth 
of public opinion in the course of centuries, from the 
time when the people were regarded as serfs, or debased 
to the lowest stage of Norman vassalage. Indeed, he 
took to the people like a brother. He knew their feel- 
ings and passions, and followed them to hostelry or 
shrine. His Tales are encyclopedian of their business, 
their opinions, and manner of life. He describes the 
ways of the merchant, the lawyer, the scholar, the 
monk, and the nun; of those in the kitchen, the shop, 



CHAUCKR. 171 

or the field ; of those who live by their wits or knavery ; 
and his genial faculty lights all with a style at once 
varied and pi(5luresque. His vivacity never lags. He 
treats of nature and man with unfailing abundance. 
Striking similes and novel incidents crowd the story. 
No phase of human life that does not reach and touch 
this grand old Chaucer. Five hundred years have not 
dimmed our sympathy and affedlion. He still delights 
us. The realm of fancy he evoked and peopled is yet 
fresh with the dews of Aurora ; the air is sweet with 
flowers, and vocal with the song of birds, as the Tabard 
pilgrims pass on their way to the shrine at Canterbury. 
Attention has been called to the lingual ingredients 
from the Norman- French in the writings of Robert of 
Gloucester and Sir John Mandeville ; but Chaucer was 
a more accurate scholar and linguist than either. Be- 
sides he never ceased reading, and he appears to have 
analyzed everything he read, from the first to the last 
line. He said of himself: - 

Wherefore to study and read I propose day by day. 

Mine Host of the Tabard speaks of him as a man 
who looked upon the ground, as reticent of speech in 
his intercourse with his fellow pilgrims. In his *' House 
of Fame ' ' the labor and reckonings mentioned in the 
lines below as being so irksome, refer to his duties at 
the Custom House, where he has a government appoint- 
ment : 

For when thy labour doon al ys, 
And hast ymade rekenynges, 
Instid of reste and newe thynges, 
Thou goost home to thy house anoon, 
And, also dombe as any stoon, 



1/2 CHAUCKR. 

Thou sittest at another booke, 
Tyl fully dasewyd ys thy looke, 
And lyvest thus as an heremyte, 
Although thyn abstynence ys lyte. 

Although these allusions are rather obscure, we can 
learn from them that his eye was downcast in scholarly 
meditation, and that it is already dazed with unre- 
mitted study. His reading embraced the best authors 
of antiquity, as is evident from many passages in his 
works. He was a masterly linguist, and knew how to 
naturalize with taste and judgment such derivatives as 
would blend into an English setting with the most per- 
fe(5l homogeneity. Authorship was his pride, his pre- 
eminent forte, and life-long vocation. He set out to 
mould the polyglot elements of his mother tongue, and 
it is to him we must look for their intimate incorpora- 
tion with each other. Observe the sonorous vocables 
that he first made standard English (I "quote from 
Weisse'slist) : action, division, instruvtejit , talent, nature, 
justice, sacrifice, discipline, doctrine, surprise, famine, 
multitude, observance, diligence, prologue, college, priv- 
ilege, danger, pardon, volume, image, village, igno- 
rance, silence, presence, franchise, co?idition and hun- 
dreds of others that remain to this day unaltered. The 
following are a few in which a redundant letter has 
since been dropped : Auditor for auditour ; or in 
which the letter jk has taken the place of a final e, or of 
ee : fraternity ior fraternite, or chastity for chastitee ; 
or where the final syllable in eux has been changed into 
ous, as curious for curieux ; or eur into or, as senator 
for senateur ; and still further specimens of the same 
kind are creatour, doctour, dignitee, faculte, precietix. 



CHAUCER. 173 

viguer, philosophie, superfluite , and a patient host of 
other words equally distindl, forcible, and precise, in 
v/liich a letter has been changed here and there or ex- 
pelled altogether. There have been produced from 
these nouns a great number of corresponding verbs, ad- 
jecflives, adverbs, and participles. The author last men- 
tioned, while reading Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 
copied about 2,340 different words introduced from the 
French, all nouns, verbs, or adjedlives, which with 
their French inflexions number about 6,000 in that 
language, most all of which have since remained in 
English and taken their place in the family circle in 
unquestioned membership. These are examples of the 
beautiful and expressive terms that flowed through the 
pen of Chaucer into the impregnable resources of our 
language ; and Vv^ho can estimate their value to our 
speech ? It may be true that dialedl has little to do 
with thought, but what would become of thought unless 
it had a vehicle of clear and even powerful expres- 
sion ? 

Inflexion in regard to language will be treated of 
hereafter. At present it must suffice to define it as a. 
change of the vowel letter in the root word, as, for ex- 
ample, man in the singular is flexed into men in the 
plural. This internal moulding in the root, which is 
always a monosyllable, is still in extensive use, es- 
pecially in strong nouns and verbs, so called. But in- 
flexion also takes place where there is an addition to 
the root externally. In the Latin, for instance, sermo 
stands for the word; sermoms stands iox of the word; and 
throughout the whole declension the meaning is indi- 
cated by the ending, without the use of prepositions as 



174 CHAUCI^R. 

in English. In regard to verbs, the Latin word amo 
stands for / love ; amas, thou lovest ; amat^ he loves; 
and the root passes through a great number of inflex- 
ions, amounting to not less than 132, in order to signify 
the various relations of mood, tense, number, and per- 
son, till at last it appears in the first person singular, 
future tense, of the passive voice, in the sesquipedalian 
compound, amatusfuero, or as we would express it, / 
shall have been loved. Surely that sublime old pagan, 
Ovid, never used such a jawbreaker to express the 
tender passion in any of his amorous intrigues. 

The declensions and conjugations in the Anglo- 
Saxon were even more cumbersome. For instance, the 
definite article had a variety of inflexions as has already 
been explained ; it had four cases in the singular number 
and the same in the plural, and it had to agree with the 
noun which followed it ; thus requiring great care in 
making the proper application. We owe a debt of 
gratitude to Chaucer that he used scarcely any of these 
external inflexions in the formation of our tongue. By 
employing prepositions instead of case endings he ex- 
hibits what is called an analytic language, as dis- 
tinguished from the infle(5led forms of the old writers, 
and he has thereby conferred a lasting benefit upon 
language and literature. In the old system, where ad- 
jedlives were infledled in the masculine, feminine, and 
neuter genders, besides having all the case endings of 
nouns, there was the fatal mistake to be apprehended of 
adding an adjective in the feminine to a noun in the 
masculine, an error which enables us to have a just idea 
of that which persons suing for a divorce term incom- 
patibility of disposition ; whilst an adjec5tive in the in- 



CHAUCER. 175 

strumental with a noun in the dative would be a gram- 
matical sin for which there is no hope of pardon. 
Chaucer discarded a majority of these inflexions, and 
we are scarcely justified in speaking of the dative, ac- 
cusative, or instrumental cases at all. 

The inflexions of the Anglo-Saxon were the princi- 
pal obstacles to the new tongue ; but these were gradu- 
ally retrenched, and this was perhaps the most important 
change made in it in order to conform it to the 
Anglicizing process then going on. The most eager 
pursuit of the philologist has been unable to trace the 
precise manner in which this change was effedled. 
But one thing is clear, it was the work of several gen- 
erations, and did not appear to have made its greatest 
degree of progress till Chaucer reduced the reform to 
something like system. He abandoned the declensions 
for articles, adjecftives, and adverbs, and reduced that 
of nouns almost to a single one, of three cases, two 
numbers, with the natural gender of sex. The many 
distincftions in the use of the verb were abandoned and 
their places supplied with simple and diredl application 
of person and number, and the moods and tenses were 
so simplified as to mean the time and condition of the 
adlion with greater certainty. The rules of syntax 
though not stridlly adhered to were greatly modified. 
The verb, generally, is made to agree with its subject, the 
adje(5live with the word it qualifies, and the article makes 
sure and definite the objecft to which it is related. If he 
still adhered occasionally to a useless inflexion, as in 
the case of e, it was only to help out his rhyme by mak- 
ing an additional syllable. To no one are we so much 
indebted as to this grand old English writer for the 



176 



CHAUCKR. 



simplicity of our tongue, and it is not too much to say 
that he has done more to shape its standard for literary 
purposes than any or all those who had preceded him. 

Among the most marked of Chaucer's inflexional char- 
adleristics, is the use of the final e, as just mentioned, 
to create a syllable at the end of his rhj^mes to produce 
metrical harmony. This tendency abounds on every 
page. The poet has a license that the prose writer dare 
not take, and, when he has occasion to use a particular 
letter or word, he does not stop to think whether he is 
making a formal deviation from the usual mode of ex- 
pression. He writes by inspiration, which has its own 
way, or else it ceases its w^ork and surrenders its place 
to the mechanical interpretations of thought. These 
may be good or even instru(5live, but never uplifting and 
emotional. The fire burns upon the altar, but it is 
quenched by the want of the celestial element that makes 
true poetry. Here was Chaucer's genius displayed, 
here his inspiration never failed him, for when the 
divine influence was v/orking out its melody he did not 
check its flow by the technical requirements of the set 
rules of art. Hence, he uses an accented ^ in the mid- 
dle of a word to complete the measure, and sounds it as 
a final syllable at the end of a line to produce rhyme. 
An example of this kind occurs at the beginning of the 
Prologue to the Tales : 

Whanne that April with its showres sole 
The draught of March had perced to the rote. 

Here, undoubtedly, sote and rote are to be read as 
dissyllables. There are hundreds of such instances. It 
has been discussed by several authors, especially by 
Tyrwhitt in his edition of Chaucer's works, and by Mr. 



CHAUCER. 177 

Guest in his History of English Rythms. Mr. James R. 
Lowell has also examined the question in his disserta- 
tions on the great poet, and they all agree that he 
sounded the final e, and the latter conclusively proves 
that he took this pra(5lice from the best examples of the 
Norman- French poets, mentioning particularly Marie de 
France and Master Robert Wace, who had rendered the 
story of Geoffroy Monmouth into Norman-French, as 
his authorities. But aside from all this it is evident 
that this letter had a peculiar position in the Early 
English writers, who used it to represent a final a in 
Anglo-Saxon nouns. It is admitted that this letter was 
sounded in that diale(5l, and this was continued after the 
change in the letter was introduced. So that by 
analogy to the pradlice of the Norman-French and 
Anglo-Saxon poets, Chaucer was justified in the use of 
final e to make a dissyllable when it suited the measure 
or the rhyme. His genitive case ends in es, and is gen- 
erally a separate S3dlable, which we still employ for our 
possessive case, with the elision of the e before the s, and 
the use of an apostrophe ; and this is now the only case 
that varies the termination from the nominative. The 
plural of nouns is in es, as ladies, croppes. For the 
Anglo-Saxon infinitive in an he substituted the enig- 
matical en, supposed by some to be derived from the 
Measo-Gothic, but it may well be doubted whether 
Chaucer ever heard of Ulfilas's translation, the only 
fragment of that dialedl in existence. 

Among his quaint peculiarities of style are his 

double negatives, which, however, do not produce an 

affirmative, and his negative verbs, which combine three 

parts of speech into a monosyllable, such as nam or nys 

12 



1/8 CHAUCKR. 

for I am not or it is not ; nas and nere for he was not or 
they were not ; nyst, nysten, for he knew not and they 
knew not ; and several other forms whic"h perhaps seem 
to us like monosyllabic monsters, but which undoubtedly 
were good English in the age of the poet. In an oppo- 
site manner, the examples are quite numerous where he 
makes dissyllables out of monosyllables by accenting a 
vowel, to eke out the measure of his line. Here is an 
instance : 

And lene was his horse as is a rake. 

He also joins the pronoun to a verb of which it is the 
subjec5l, as schaltow for shalt thou, wiltow for wilt thou. 
From some cause these forms have proved incapable of 
maintaining their position in our language. Adjedlives 
that end in^, in Saxon, have the same ending in Chaucer, 
as blithe, dene, and usually indicate the plural number. 
The first person singular, indicative mood, ends in e, 
second person, st, and the third person generally in eth, 
and the plural commonly in en. Inflexions in strong 
verbs are formed by an internal change in the root, as 
slept for sleep, wept for weep. The present participle is 
mostly iuyng, and the prefixes / andjj/ are found with 
past participles, occasionally, which end in ede or de, and 
sometimes te. 

The influence of the poems of Chaucer upon our 
language has been very great. There was no one at 
that time who could speak English as any one else 
spoke it. When he wrote, the language was not only 
in a state of great disorder, but the different dialecfts 
had little or no ground of union, except the common 
origin from which they sprung. The mental cast of the 
Anglo-Saxon mind had not yet reached the fine percep- 



CHAUCE^R. 179 

tion of a literary style, and there was, therefore, no 
effort at any uniformity in the construdlion of language. 
The highest reach of man's ability to express thought 
lies in his power to command fitting words to express it, 
and it is not until he has passed through many phases 
of life that he acquires this supreme faculty. It is the 
most spiritual of his endowments, struggling to express 
his hopes and aspirations, and to which he can only 
attain after the mind has been far advanced in culture 
and refinement. In the age of Chaucer there were no 
societies devoted to the cultivation of the finer qualities, 
upon which the improvement of mankind depends. The 
noblest pursuit was the profession of arms, and the only 
hope of letters was confined to the cloister and the imme- 
diate circle of the court. Literature had not opened its 
precious stores for the people, and the only ambition had 
been to excel in the almost barbarous jargon of their 
local provincialisms. The times were not only rude, but 
besotted. The high-born were low enough in the scale 
of intelligence, and the masses were poor and ignorant. 
The churchmen were educated in Rome and Paris, and 
took no means of improving their own condition, much 
less that of the people. The modes of the great and the 
habits of common life were, however, sufficiently varied 
and pidluresque to occupy the mind of Chaucer. The 
body politic had been organized, and the various stations 
in life were filled by those who were trained in their 
orderly ways and methods. Trades and professions were 
carried on; the field and the shop, the laborer and the 
merchant worked in their respecftive callings. The 
church was the greatest centre of knowledge and refine- 
ment, and monks and nuns were plentiful in every direc- 



i8o 



CHAUCER. 



tion. What a vivid picfture of that olden time is presented 
in the Canterbury Tales. It is the mirror of the age, in 
which all these orders pass before us, as in a panorama. 
It is not a matter of surprise that such diversities of 
diale(fl should exist, since we have already seen that the 
first Saxon settlers came from different tribes, and prob- 
ably brought with them each its own idiom. The Scan- 
dinavian and Dane, who settled the Northeast, would be 
different from the Jute, the Angle, and the Saxon, 
who came from the banks of rivers that flow into 
the German Ocean, and had their own peculiarities, 
which again distinguished them from the Frieslanders 
and others who joined the Saxon fleets at the time of 
the invasion. These divers races had settled different 
portions of the country, and their variant dialedls were 
rendered still more perplexing by their intermingling 
with each other, so as to absorb a number of corruptions 
in the intermixture. These differences were probably 
first perpetuated in the Anglo-Saxon, and then in the 
English. Previous writers had employed the peculiar 
local diale(5t with which they were most familiar, and 
there were as many literary forms of speech as there 
were dialedls. A writer in the North wrote in the 
Northern one, and those in the Midland and the South 
adopted their own. There were many sub-dialedls, so 
to speak, in the East and West, in the North and South. 
All this was still further confused and perplexed by the 
copyists, who were extensively engaged to multiply the 
various works, for in those early days the printing press 
was unknown, and often the copyist belonged to the 
region of a dialecft different from that of his author, and 
it not unfrequently happened that he employed his own, 



CHAUCER. 



i8i 



instead of following faithfully his original. Chaucer 
writes in what is called the Midland dialecfl, which 
gained the ascendancy for literary purposes. Previous 
to his time, Englishmen, like most of the nations upon 
the Continent, had employed the Latin in their produc- 
tions, but after the appearance of the Canterbury Tales 
no great work was written in that language, except it 
was almost immediately translated back into the ver- 
nacular. Bacon was a striking instance, but he did not 
believe in English, and wanted his writings in a lan- 
guage that could not change, so he wrote his philosophi- 
cal works in Latin. They are now chiefly read in Eng- 
lish, and his Latin Tomes are looked upon with awe and 
curiosity. It is to writers like Chaucer, who believed in 
their native tongue, that the language is chiefly indebted 
for its refinement and progress. No doubt these fadls 
account for the dialecftic variations that were still in full 
force when he began to write. I think it may be safely 
claimed that to him is due the first attempt to bring order 
out of this commingling of tongues, and to show the new 
English in anything like a form that we can recognize 
and read. He wrote English as we understand it, and 
he gave an example to his learned countrymen to use 
their own tongue in their literary works. He did more, 
for he gave to the world as fine a specimen of that lan- 
guage in a great poem as Dante had for the decaying 
forms of the Italian, and raised it to as high a point of 
excellence. Pretty much all that had been written be- 
fore was obscured by the dress in which it appeared. 
Since Chaucer's day all is changed ; a regard for good 
English, and the purity of our language, has ever since 
generally prevailed. The influence of a writer like Chau- 



1.82 CHAUCKR. 

cer upon literature is immense, when we consider that 
all the writers since his time have paid tribute to his 
genius and his producftions, and all men have agreed to 
look to him as the first to bring anything like order out 
of the chaos that hung over our vernacular when he 
began to write. It was to him more than to any other 
influence that we are indebted for the freshness and 
beauty of modern poetry. Who would have written 
poetry had not Chaucer shown them a language full of 
poetic beaut}^ in which to sing the inspiration of the 
muse ? Who would have composed a majestic work 
had he not shown a form of speech in which it could be 
preserved forever ? Who would have written a great 
poem had he not first led the way to the shrine at Can- 
terbury, and sung the songs of the pilgrims as they 
passed on ? Who would have thought it worth while 
to go to Rome, to Italy, to France, and other regions to 
learn the strange and wonderful adventures of men and 
women engaged in the different walks and ways of life, 
in order to make his works a refle(5lion of real things, of 
men and women as they live and move to their respedlive 
destinies ? Who would have gone over the English lan- 
guage and seledled all the fine words, all the sweet terms, 
all the noble sayings, all the golden truths it contains, 
and woven them into a form so interesting and attractive, 
but a man of high genius, and of a great and beautiful 
soul ? I am not aware that any author has ever dis- 
paraged Chaucer's style, and I am sure that thousands 
are indebted to him for many pleasant moments and de- 
lightful hours while reading his stories, and taking in 
the rich melody of his verse, and the genial temper of 
his quaint and never-failing humor. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

MIDDLE ENGLISH— CONTINUED— 1350-1550. 

1. James I. and the Scotch Poets 5. The Influence of the Refor- 

of this Period. mat ion and Renaissance 

2. SirThomas More, his Utopia, Upon the Language. 

Letters, and Writings. 6. Inflected and Unin fleeted 

3. Sir John Fortescue, Author Forms Discussed. 

of the First Treatise on the 7. Middle English Analyzed 
Laws of England. and Described. 

4. Henry VIII., Erasmus, Cran- 

mer, and the Writers of the 
Reformation. 

From the days of Chaucer a period of one hundred 
and fifty years will scarcely reveal a single star upon the 
literary firmament of England. The sad echo of Den- 
ham's lines are as truthful as they are poetic : 

Old Chaucer, like the morning star, 

To us discovers day from far. 

His lights these clouds and mists dissolved, 

Which our dark nation long involved, 

But he descending to the shades, 

Darkness again the age invades. 

It was during this dull interval that the Scottish poets 
attained a very high degree of perfecftion, and a few of 
them refledled upon the gloom which shrouded the 
Southern part of the island an extraordinary splendor. 
Among those of the first excellence, were Wyntoun, 



184 SCOTTISH POKTS.. 

Henryson, Blind Harry, William Dunbar, Gavin Doug- 
lass, and Sir David lyindsay of the Mount, besides 
many others of less merit, whose poetical compositions 
deserve a place in the history of English literature. The 
lays of James I., who had been kept a prisoner in Eng- 
land by Henry IV. for nineteen years, present us with 
passages of the highest flight of poetry. He married, 
after his enlargement, a daughter of the Earl of Somer- 
set, who accompanied him to Scotland. Her charms 
evoked from the young prince, whilst yet a prisoner, a 
poem of singular beauty and power. I extradl from it 
the following glowing apostrophe, composed upon see- 
ing her walking in the garden from the window of the 
apartment in which he was confined : 

Ah ! swete are ye a worldy creature 

Or lovingly thing in likeness of nature, 

Or are ye cupides own princess 

And, coming, are to loose me out of band? 

Or are ye very Nature, the Goddesse, 

That have depainted with your heavenly hand 

This golden fall of flowers as they stand ? 

"James belongs," says Washington Irving, 

"to one of the most brilliant eras of our literary history, and estab- 
lishes the claims of his country to a participation in its primitive 
honors. While a small cluster of English writers are constantly 
cited as the fathers of our verse, the name of their great Scottish 
compeer is apt to be passed over in silence ; but he is evidently 
worthy of being enrolled in that little constellation of remote, but 
never-failing luminaries, who shine in the highest firmament of 
literature, and who, like morning stars, sang together at the bright 
dawning of the British poesy." 

I have alrea.dy referred to the origin of the Scottish 
dialedl, and shall not enter again upon the subjedl, fur- 



SCOTTISH POINTS. 1 85 

ther than to recall the fadl that it was substantially the 
same as that which at one time was spoken in the 
Northern and Eastern parts of England, as well as in 
the Southern and Eastern parts of Scotland. It was 
in this language that the Scots wrote their poetry ; and 
Lindsay excuses himself for using it in his piece called 
' * Experience and ane Courteour, ' ' in the following 
lines : 

Quhowbeit that divers devote cunning Clerkis 
In Latyne toung hes wryttin syndrie bukis, 

Our unlernit knawis lytill of thare werkis, 
More than they do the ravyng of the rukis. 
Quharefore to colyearis, cairtaris, and to cukis, 

To Jok and Thome, my rhyme sail be dire6lit. 

With cunning men, quhov/beit, it wylbe lackit. 

This dialecft continued to be the literary language 
of Scotland till the crowns of both kingdoms were 
united, and was spoken by James VI. when he ascended 
the throne of England. The changes produced by the 
merger of the two governments, and the consequent 
assimilation in the manners and speech of the people, 
have to some extent obscured these early works, though 
written in a language superior to that of Chaucer, and 
not so antiquated as that of Spenser. I give but a 
simple passage from Dunbar. The lines are from his 
celebrated apostrophe to Chaucer, Gower, and Eydgate, 
at the end of his ' ' Golden Targe ' ' : 

O reverent Chawcere, Rose of Rethoris all, 
As to oure Tong ane Flouir imperiall 

That raise in Brittane evir, quho redis rycht. 
Thou beiris of makaris the Tryumphe riall, 
Thy fresch anamalit termes celicall. 

This matir couth illumynit have full brycht, 



1 86 CHIEF JUSTICES FORTKSCUK. 

Was thou noucht of our Inglisch al the lycht, 
Sourmounting eviry Tong terrestriall 
Als fer as Mayes morow dois mydnycht. 

O morall Gower, and Lydgate, laureate, 

Your sugurit lippis and Tongis aureate 
Bene til our eris cause of grite delyte. 

Your angel mouthis maist mellifluate 

Our rude language hes clere illumynate, 

And faire owre-gilt our speche that imperfyte 
Stude, or your goldyn pennis schupe to write, 

This ike before was bare and desolate 

Off Rethorike or lusty fresch endyte. 

The literary annals of most of the 15th century 
register but few English works that stand out in relief 
among the dark and sanguinary scenes of that dreadful 
era. Gower belonged rather to the preceding century, 
and, at most, he wTote but one original poem in his 
native tongue, all his other performances being in the 
exhausted Latin of the Mediaeval Age. Thomas Occleve 
and John Lydgate followed Gower, and they all three 
left the language in the condition they found it. 

To one of the revered jurists in the British courts of 
law, Chief Justice Fortescue, is accorded the honor of 
writing a treatise on the difference between an absolute 
and a limited monarchy. He had told Edward IV., 
who was one of the most arbitrary princes that ever 
held despotic sway, that he was not an absolute, but a 
limited monarch, and that England was not a land where 
the will of the prince was itself the law, but where the 
prince could neither make laws nor impose taxes save 
by his subjedls' consent. 

In an age when the crown exercised an unrestrained 
dominion, there was scarcely room for the brave and 



CHIEF JUSTICE FORTESCUE. 1 8/ 

Upright judge. He followed Henry VI., when driven 
from the throne into exile, first to Scotland, and then 
to Holland, where he wrote his book. Fortescue was 
about sixty years after Chaucer, but it was not until 
1599 that Robert Mulcastis published it in a small duo- 
decimo, with two columns on a page, one being the 
original I^atin, and opposite was the translation in 
black-letter English. The translator, in speaking of 
his work, says: 

** When I had over-runne it (the book), my desire to read it be- 
came nothing countervailable with the gladnes that I had read it, 
for my desire to read it came upon hope to finde some profitable 
lessons for my study, but my gladnes after reading sprang of the 
excellencie of the argument, whereon I did not dreame never to 
find so rich a treasure in so simple an habite. And because I 
wished all men to have part of my delight, methought it good to 
translate it into Enghlish forth of I,atin, in which tong it was first 
written." 

It has been probably modernized in orthography, 
and is, therefore, of less value for comparative studies 
in its printed form ; but as far as we can judge from its 
style and vocabulary in the translation, it presents a 
somewhat advanced stage of the language. The force 
and transparency necessarily depend upon a clear and 
unambiguous collocation of the words, and these are 
arranged so grammatically that they evidently convey 
the meaning of the author. The book is a clear step 
towards our present idiom. 

The times were hard and dark — were out of joint 
and sanguinary; men lived in peril of their lives and 
fortunes. It was the era familiarly known as the Wars 
of the Roses, which extended for thirty years from their 
first outbreak, in 1445, and they constitute a landscape 



i88 



THK WAR OF THE ROSES. 



of such surprising havoc as to be utterly beyond the 
belief of mankind, were it not that their souvenirs are 
too palpable for dispute. We have but scant informa- 
tion regarding the progress of our tongue during these 
fierce convulsions. We know, however, that conversa- 
tion was carried on, business transa(5led, battle cries 
shouted, the herald's message delivered, defiance 
uttered, and spirit-stirring addresses spoken by their 
leaders to rouse the enthusiasm of soldiers upon the 
eve of confii(5l, in the English that Chaucer wrote fifty 
years before ; and we also know that the native writers 
were gradually inspired to use their own idiom in prose 
as well as poetry. The historical probabilities are that 
the peasant spoke a local dialedl, the clerke a grammati- 
cal English, and that the haughty Norman baron de- 
livered his commands in a jargon half French and half 
Saxon. If the 15th century apparently did little for 
language, it furnished abundant material for the anti- 
quarian and the historian; for romances of chivalry, 
and for almost every element of fascinating reality in 
the literature of the imagination. The tyrants of the 
race exterminated each other on many a stricken field, 
and from the destrucftion of their princely names and 
fac5lions, the genius of freedom and letters was born, 
like Caesar, with the knife. It was the century in 
which what is called Modern History, in contradis- 
tindlion to the History of the Middle Ages, is by com- 
mon consent presumed to commence, and the great 
events transpiring in other parts of the world agitated 
powerfully the Anglo-Saxon race, and ultimately eman- 
cipated their language from the yoke of mediaeval mysti- 
cism. We know how this influence inspired our poetry, 



THE RENAISSANCE. 189 

our philosophy, and eloquence in the next century. 
England, like Scotland, was in pursuit of political and 
religious reformation, and the spirit which this senti- 
ment infused in her language during this and the follow- 
ing century was most signally displayed in its pro- 
digious exuberance, its variety of terms, its graceful- 
ness in composition, its grandeur in the expression of 
strong feeling, and its majesty in speech and oratory. 
The spirit of the age was about to introduce important 
changes in the minds of men on the subje(5l of religion 
and the privileges of the people. The language was 
growing strong, and becoming equal to the approach- 
ing contest. Education, of which there had been none 
that deserv^ed the name for nearly two centuries, lighted 
its torch and commenced its irrepressible career. The 
Universities of Cambridge and Oxford soon became the 
centres of the new learning, and schools were instituted 
all over the Northern kingdom by the followers of John 
Knox. Scholars came from Italy to teach Greek, and 
the literary remains of antiquity were opened anew. 
Erasmus astonished the world with his prodigies of 
learning, and often made England his place of resi- 
dence. He combated the dogmatism and mysticism 
of the Middle Ages, and went almost as far as Euther 
went at a later period. He held up the monkish orders 
to the contempt and hatred of society, and wrote his 
book, the "Praise of Folly," his song of triumph over 
the old world of ignorance and bigotry, which was to 
vanish away before the light and knowledge of the 
new reign. Colet taught the most radical do(5lrines at 
Oxford, and even Warham, the primate of England, 
and chancellor of Henry VIII., most thoroughly rea- 



190 SIR THOMAS MORE. 

lized the new conception of an intelle(5ltial and moral 
equality, before which the old social distinc5lions of the 
world were to vanish away. 

Perhaps Sir Thomas More was the most illustrious 
Englishman of that date who improved our vernacular 
by writing it in prose. He is a striking example of the 
vicissitudes incident to the religious controversies that 
purple the annals of the period. From a relentless per- 
secution of the Protestants, he became himself a martyr, 
and he must have recalled a bitter recolle(5lion of his own 
intolerance as he passed on with the axeman to the 
place of execution. He was also a pleasant man of the 
world, a great lawyer, a profound scholar, and his 
spirit of humor and merriment did not forsake him on 
the scaffold, which he ascended, saying to the ex- 
ecutioner, *' I pray you see me safe up, and for my com- 
ing down, let me shift for myself" ; and when the axe 
was raised he bade him stop, and quickly observed, 
" My beard is upon my neck. I shall place it outside 
of the block, for it is innocent of the crime of treason and 
ought not to be cut." Then exposing his neck naked 
upon the block, he murmured: "Have mercy upon 
me, O Ivord," when the blow fell and severed the head, 
that was afterwards perched upon lyondon bridge. We 
are reminded of the love and devotion of his matchless 
daughter, who, to youth, genius, and beauty, added a filial 
piety more than human ; who recovered that noble head, 
to be embalmed and preserved in her oratory, and in- 
terred with her, according to her request, under the 
same stone and in the same sepulchre — a scene which 
still attracts our unspeakable sympathies. 

The Reformation doubled the religious sentiment of 



SIR THOMAS MORE. IQ^ 

England, but it is full of eccentric problems. More per- 
secuted the Protestants, and with coarse invective con- 
sidered that T3mdale ''was the son of the Devil in hell," 
while Henry VIII. had the satisfa(5lion of persecuting 
both Catholic and Protestant, and of sending the heretic 
who denied the real presence and the traitor who refused 
the oath of supremacy on the same hurdle to the same 
ignominious death. 

But this is not quite in the line of our inquiries. 
Of the writings of Sir Thomas More, the most celebrated 
is his romance of Utopia, in Latin. He is also the 
author of several other works, the Latinity of which, 
it is said, cannot be excelled, but as their version in 
English conveys no idea of his style, further reference to 
them is unnecessary. Some letters to his family and an 
unfinished biography of Edward V., wBiich appears 
to that profound writer, Mr. Hallam, as the first ex- 
ample of good English language, pure and perspicuous, 
well chosen, without vulgarisms or pedantry, are the 
only remains of what he wrote in the vernacular. 

Previous to the i6th century it can scarcely be said 
that English prose was anything more than ordinary 
talk reduced to writing. Nothing like style or graphic 
delineation was known. No treatise on the art of com- 
position had yet appeared, and the Latin grammar 
by Lily belongs to the early part of this century. En- 
glish, however, had been the dialect of ordinary conver- 
sation, and its common use by the polite and educated 
classes had gradually made its terms more distinct and 
precise, so that at the commencement of the i6th 
century its urbane features began to rise above the im- 
poverished dialects of the vulgar. The revival of learn- 



192 HlBNRY VIII. 

ing in England under Henry VIII. might have shed 
an immense glory upon his reign, for his uncommon nat- 
ural advantages would have drawn him to its support ; 
but his sensuality and licentiousness were of such an 
unprecedented character as to almost destroy the hopes 
of its friends. He affected to be a disciple of Aristotle, 
a student of Saint Thomas Aquinas, a metaphyscian 
and a theologian. And he aspired to spiritual su- 
premacy, and to be the living oracle of the Scriptures. 
His ambition was to transform his palace into a Vatican. 
Unlike his sordid father, however, he professed admira- 
tion for men of letters. He corresponded with Erasmus 
and called him from the Continent, and subsequently 
gave him a professorship at Oxford. Sir Thomas More, 
the author of the famous romance of Utopia, was his 
chancellor ; Einacre, who translated Virgil and Horace, 
Dean Colet, who repudiated the subtleties of the Middle 
Ages and taught Plato's philosophy, and Grocyn, who 
introduced the study of Greek at Oxford, were received 
by Henry as the equals of cardinals and legates, of 
dukes and lords. He was sufficiently learned to ap- 
preciate their scholarship, and merry enough to enjoy 
the flashes of wit with which they enlivened the most 
serious conversation. Nearly all the men who broke 
with the dead past had studied Greek beyond the Alps, 
and returned to speak of the grandeur of Florence and 
of the Medicis. The king's ambition was to excel all 
other princes as the benefactor of learning. But other 
thoughts soon engrossed his attention. Within three 
years after his coronation (15 12) a frantic spirit of 
foreign conquest lured him into a war with France. 
The year previous his favor and friendship had been 



THB REFORMATION. 193 

solicited by Julius II., who sent him a sacred rose per- 
fumed with musk and annointed with chrism, and thus 
drew him over to an alliance against France and the 
war just mentioned. 

Three years more rolled on, when, vain of his theo- 
logical learning and ambitious to be regarded as the 
protector of the church and the champion of its faith, he 
made his famous attack upon the writings of Luther. 
Two copies of the ' ' Assertion of the Seven Sacraments, ' ' 
magnificently printed, v/ere transmitted through the 
Ambassador of England to Pope I^eo X., w^ho received 
them in the Sacred College, and conferred upon him 
the title of " Defender of the Faith." Distradled by the 
gayeties of his court, by his bacchanal carousals, and his 
domestic intrigues, his early resolutions of being the 
good genius of learning were greatly relaxed, and the 
golden dreams of its friends disappointed. He desired 
the triumph of his passion for Anne Bolejm, and in ac- 
complishing this atrocious purpose, he revolted as a 
Catholic, not as a Protestant, from Rome. Henry did 
not understand the schism which he created. It was 
a germ of the age. The scholars and poets had for a 
century and a half been inexhaustible in their satire 
upon the disorders of the clergy and the lazy, vicious 
life of the monastic orders. From the vision of William 
Ivangland, concerning Piers the Plowman, in 1362 
(oldest manuscript) , to the Praise of Folly, by Erasmus, 
in 15 12, English literature had been the strenuous but 
unconscious propagandist of the Reformation. Chaucer 
had ridiculed the sale of indulgences, and there had 
been an almost irresistible current of opinion against 
the papal authority ever since the days of King John. 
13 



194 'I^HE REFORMATION. 

The people and nobility were penetrated with a pro- 
found sentiment of national dislike at the humiliations of 
their government when the Roman pontiff reduced the 
kingdom to the condition of a fief of Rome ; and this 
feeling never ceased to animate them until it under- 
mined the foundations of the Catholic establishments in 
England. The Pope nominated an immense number of 
clergy to the finest benefices, and conferred them upon 
his Italian creatures. He levied tribute upon the ec- 
clesiastics to a greater amount than the king's 
revenue. The ordinances against the church were 
numerous ; such was the statute of Mortmain, and those 
against appeals from the decisions of English courts to 
the court of Rome ; so also were those against the in- 
terference of the Pope in the appointment of bishops, and 
against other encroachments of the spiritual tribunals. 
In fact, all through the 15th century the spiritual power 
was on the decline, and the events were gestating 
which resulted in the upheaval of the i6th. 

In this light it is easy to believe that a Reformation 
would have come without Henry. His war with the 
Holy Father was personal, and not with the church. His 
mind was probably a virgin blank to any pure sentiment 
of religion. His vidlory was complete when Cranmer's 
consistorial court annulled his marriage with Catherine 
of Aragon and consecrated Anne Boleyn as his lawful 
wife and queen ; and when he seized upon ecclesiastical 
powers he was far from obeying an inspiration of his 
conscience. His passion was first, divorce, and next 
absolute authority over all laws human and divine; 
to be king and pontiff over both church and state, 
and the hierophant in a hierarchy of his own. To 



CRANMER. 195 

show that he still was a Catholic, he persecuted those 
who denied its do(5lrines with even more barbarity 
than those who refused to recognize his ecclesiasti- 
cal supremacy. But fortunately for the British Isle 
his rapture with Rome took a form quite contrary to 
his cruel and dissolute passions. "Your Majesty," 
said Thomas Cromwell, his minister of state, "you are 
only half a king, and your people are only half-subjects ; 
the bishops take two oaths — one to the king and the 
other to the Pope, and the second relieves them from the 
first; make yourself wholly king, supported by your 
Parliament ; proclaim yourself head of the Church of 
England, and you will behold the glory of your name 
and the prosperity of your people." He embraced the 
advice without hesitation, and with inexpressible joy. 
Nor did he dream that by a logical application of the 
same reasoning one hundred years later, the Puritans 
would attack the royal supremacy he established, and 
thus prepare the triumph of modern liberty and Anglo- 
Saxon civilization over the world. 

It has suited some writers to attribute the honor of 
the Reformation in England to Henry VIII. — especially 
is this view insinuated by that reckless defender of tyr- 
anny and crime, Mr. Froude, in his paradoxical history 
of England. But if Cranmer wrote a book to prove that 
Henry's marriage wdth Catherine of Aragon was inter- 
di(5led by lycviticus, he at the same time proclaimed the 
supreme authority of the Scriptures in matters of faith, 
and the entire independence of his country from any 
foreign dominion — the grand principle which today 
rules the Anglo-Saxon race in both hemispheres. His 
fervid spirit, his popular eloquence, his sincerity, cour- 



196 THKOI.OGICAI, CONTROVKRSIKS. 

age, and learning marked him as the champion of the 
cause. Cranmer is, therefore, the true author of the 
Reformation in that country, as I/Uther was in Ger- 
many, and John Knox in Scotland. After 1536 he was 
employed on an English version of the Scriptures, and 
defeated Gardiner's attempt to restricfl their reading. 
It was pure in style, and had the same noble simplicity 
of the Wickliffe and Tyndale versions. In 1544 he 
published an English lyitany, and three years later his 
first book of homilies. Burnet makes him the hero of 
his history. 

A number of writers now appeared in their mother 
tongue, both Catholic and Protestant, and entered into 
the theological controversies that convulsed the country 
like the throes of an earthquake. The infallibility of 
the Pope, the adoration of angels and saints, the sale of 
reliques and indulgences, the dodlrine of excommuni- 
cation, of confession, and purgatory, the real presence in 
the eucharist, monastic vows, and the celibacy of the 
priests, passed through the crucible of thought, and 
were presented, perhaps for the first time, in a language 
that the people could understand. Divided opinions 
raged on these subjedls with more than frantic zeal, 
and the history of the m^ovement is stained with 
tales of torture and bloodshed. But the language 
gained strength and form from the contest. Among 
those who wrote, Sir Thomas More and Cranmer 
have already been mentioned. Along with them 
were Elyot, author of what was, perhaps, nearly the 
first Latin and English dictionary . He also discussed 
the living issues of the day in several political tracfts and 
religious essays. Tyndale belongs to the early part of 



MIDDtK KNGI.ISH. 197 

the century, and his writings are still considered fine 
examples of grammatical English. Hugh Latimer, 
Bishop of Worcester, and Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of 
Rochester, defended the faith, for which they were 
burned at Oxford, Oct. i6, 1555, by Bonner, who was 
also a bishop. These influences effedled the substitu- 
tion of English for the Latin. The correspondence of 
the Paston family that has been preserved and the do- 
mestic letters of Sir Thomas More exhibit the predilec- 
tion for its use among the cultivated classes of society, 
whilst the ordinary conversations of such persons as 
Lady Jane Grey with her beloved teacher, John Alymer, 
and those of More with his peerless daughter, raised it 
to a regularity not previous^ attained in its verbal ex- 
pression. The language thus received a polish from its 
use by people of genius and taste, and the Anglo-Saxon 
radicals gradually assimilated with other verbal accre- 
tions into idiomatic forms to supply the exigencies of 
speech and of modern intelligence. By Middle English, 
as already stated, is meant from about 1350 to 1550, a 
space of two hundred years, and it may be termed the 
last of the formative periods of our language in which 
old forms decayed and new ones appeared ; declinative 
variations were dropped, and their places supplied by 
pronominal ones like who^ which ^ whom^ and him^ while 
a large class of indeclinable particles and auxiliaries 
compensated for the almost complete loss of case endings 
and tense inflexions. The grammatical refinements 
and distin<5lions of the ancient parts of speech completely 
yielded to the logical and precise forms of our modern 
syntax. Here, for the sake of clearness, a little repetition 
seems necessary. The Latin possessed six cases, and 



198 KNGIvISH SYNTAX. 

the Anglo-Saxon five for the declension of nouns ; but 
the English, more simple, retains out of this complicated 
system only the nominative ; the possessive takes the 
place of the genitive, and the objecflive is substituted 
for the dative, the accusative, and ablative. Instead of 
the ten different words into which the Anglo-Saxon 
definite article is declined, we have but the single par- 
ticle the, and are thus relieved from the necessity of 
sele(5ling the particular form of the article to express the 
number, gender, and person of the noun to which it re- 
lates. The same observations apply to adjedlives. They 
are no longer riveted to the backs of the substantives 
which they qualify, but are brought forward to their 
natural position in front. The Latin model inflec5ls this 
part of speech with the same number of case endings as 
the nouns, and the rule is that they must agree in gen- 
der, number, and person. This inconvenient method is 
abandoned in English, which has no distindlion of gen- 
der, number, or person for its adjedlives, and its genders 
for nouns belong to them naturally. In Latin words 
which are called adjedlives have twelve cases or differ- 
ent endings in the first degree of comparison, and eleven 
each for the comparative and superlative, making in all 
thirty-four variant endings to a single part of speech. 
We have but two aside from the positive, and they are 
invariably er and est. Our declensions are extremely 
simple. Our articles, adjedlives, conjundlions, and 
prepositions admit of no change of form, and this is true 
also of our nouns, unless it is the sign of the plural, 
which is always s or es, and sometimes en, as oxen. The 
two numbers, singular and plural, three cases, three 
persons, and an abundance of particles are among the 



THK e:ngi.ish vkrb. 199 

syntadlical forms which were fully developed at the 
period of Middle English, and which time has imper- 
ceptibly conformed to the requirements of our tongue. 
In regard to the verb, the Latin and the Anglo- 
Saxon were inflected languages from the beginning, 
and the form of the verb itself expressed a shade of 
meaning or fancy which we express substantially by the 
aid of auxiliaries. When, therefore, we wish to denote 
duty, possession, ability, necessity, compulsion, liberty, 
power, determination or deference we employ these so- 
called auxiliary verbs to make our meaning intelligible. 
An example of this can be found in the use of most any 
verb. Take the verb to write : to express a duty, / 
ought to write, or should write ; to imply liberty, / may 
write, if I desire. / can write implies my ability to 
write, / might write shows power, and / would write, 
inclination. Could and should denote both the duty and 
power to write, and determination is expressed by shall. 

It seems to me that the sufficiency of our verb for 
clear and precise comprehension of essential distindlions, 
is as fully attained as by a vast multitude of flexible 
endings. An acute writer observes that "the arrange- 
ment of the English verb, the most important element 
of language, is peculiarly full and perfe<fl, capable of 
expressing every relation of time, variety of action, and 
modification of thought with familiar clearness and 
philosophical precision." 

Another of the changes of Middle English relates to 
the present participle, which first took its form in ing ; 
and the preterit, which simply changes the vowel in 
the irregular verbs, as in the word write for the present 
into wrote for the past; and our pronouns, which are de- 



200 INFI^BXIONS. 

rived mostly from Anglo-Saxon, as will appear by and 
by, were harmoniously absorbed into English composi- 
tion. In facft, at the close of this period the language ex- 
isted nearly as we have it today. It had become ana- 
lytical, that is, words were placed one after the other in 
the order of thought, and were connedled by pronouns, 
conjundlions, and prepositions. It is not my pur- 
pose to pronounce upon the comparative merits of 
the grammatical forms furnished by an infle(5led lan- 
guage, and one in which the relations of words 
are pointed out by invariable particles. I suppose 
it is admitted that the advantages of flexible cases, 
which can be applied in Latin and Greek so as to multi- 
ply the same word into a great variety of forms to ex- 
press different shades of meaning, are important and 
useful devices. The metrical gain is, perhaps, undenia- 
ble. But greater inflexion has prevailed in other 
tongues without producing any support to this theory. 
Among living languages, Mr. G. P. Marsh informs us 
that the Turkish verb has three or four thousand dis- 
tindlly marked and expressive forms. The Basque lan- 
guage also, still extant, inflecfts every part of speech, 
including inter] edlions and conjun(5lions. Some of its 
nouns have twenty cases. The Romans, with six case 
endings, and the Greeks with five could, beyond doubt, 
express every shade of thought, and in this respecft these 
superb idioms had a verb perfedll}^ exuberant in differ- 
ent forms of from a hundred to a hundred and fifty in 
number. These varied terminations are supposed to 
give the orator and the poet a master grip upon the lan- 
guage in which he thinks or speaks. Our English, 
with but few of these grammatical accidents, is distin- 



POSITION OF WORDS IN ENGLISH. 20I 

guished by its energetic eloquence, by its rich variety of 
expression, as well as by its perspicacity, directness, 
and strength. Even a foreigner like Jacob Grimm re- 
marks that it has a veritable power of expression such 
as never, perhaps, stood at the command of any other 
language of men. With our rules of grammar the posi- 
tion of words is important. The subjecft of a verb must 
precede and the objedl follow it. In the passive voice 
this is reversed. For instance, when I say " John pur- 
chased a book," the signification is the same as if I had 
said "a book was purchased by John." It is apparent 
that the words have changed their position, although 
the logical relations are the same. The noun John has 
passed from the nominative to the objedlive case, and the 
reverse of this has put the noun book in the nomina- 
tive instead of the objedlive. The rules of our syntax 
require that substantives should generally occupy cer- 
tain places in relation to verbs and prepositions. The 
place of the verb is ascertained by reference to the case 
which precedes it and follows it. The objedl is placed 
after an acftive transitive verb, and the subjecft in front. 
In the example of a passive verb, hov/ever, the necessity 
of position in our system of grammar forces the objedt 
into the nominative case, although it performs no adlion, 
and has only suffered a change of location in the sen- 
tence. It is, hovv^ever, a logical statement of the fadl, 
and our grammar, therefore, parses it according to the 
relation of the words as they stand in their order. In 
the last example the word book is, from its position, in 
the nominative case, 2iX\6.John is governed in the objecfl- 
ive by the preposition by. 

It will, therefore, be seen that position is one of the 



202 POSITION OF WORDS IN KNGI.ISH. 

grand features of our grammar. The words proceed 
hand in hand, each one clinging to its neighbor. The 
dependent words are kept together by a ligament of con- 
cord and agreement that keeps the sense before the mind 
as the sentence proceeds. They resemble those Alpine 
voyagers, who have provided themselves with a rope, to 
which each explorer is fastened by his belt, so that if 
one falls into a snow-hidden crevice he is instantly 
restored to his place by the tension of this common 
bond, which allows each to approach the glacier's edge 
with safety. 

It is evident that English is capable of expressing 
every variety of thought and every form of useful erudi- 
tion by the S3mta(5lical construdlion of its simple ele- 
ments. If the variant forms of inflexion conduce to 
clearness and accuracy, that of position and arrange- 
ment has attained equal, if not superior, precision by 
uniting sentences in the natural order of expression. 
We have seen the grandest and most harmonious 
periods and the finest epic poem of the race in the 
English idiom, notwithstanding its paucity of gram- 
matical inflexions. The relation of the words is made 
easy, not only from the context, but by the connedling 
links, which determine the dependence of the parts, how- 
ever separated. If our verbs and other parts of speech 
are less flexible than those extended by inflexion, our 
relational terms and particles are numerous, clear, forci- 
ble, and precise. An indeclinable part of speech may 
be as convenient as a suffix. The continuity of an idea 
begins with the first word in an English sentence, and 
is not broken till the last one is reached. The thought 
and the language proceed pari passu, for the words are 



MODERN KNGI.ISH. 203 

logically conne(5led to the end. Whenever an ambigu- 
ity occurs in an English author or speaker, it will gen- 
erally be found to spring from the misuse of a word, or 
the misplacement of an antecedent. A proper seledlion 
of terms will prevent all equivocation. Clearness and 
distin(5lness are qualities of speech which depend upon 
clearness of thought. To use words that unmistakably 
express the meaning intended to be conveyed, is indis- 
pensable to a good style. Verbal and logical inaccu- 
racies are not san(5lioned in any language, though 
practical in all. The Delphic oracles were rendered 
in an idiom of the richest inflexions, to mean anything 
or to have no meaning whatever. The poverty of our 
language in terminal forms undoubtedly leads to para- 
phrastic expressions in English composition, but the 
aptest words to express their meaning is a prominent 
chara(5leristic of our standard authors ; and it seems to 
be acknowledged, even by foreigners, that our literature 
is distinguished not only by correcftness and subtility of 
thought, but by the nicety of terms through which they 
are made perfecftly intelligible, and the world is impressed 
with the opinion that many of the finest contemporary 
writings are of English authorship. 

Before passing on to Modern English, it may be 
observed that it covers a much wider field than its 
formative history and changes; yet our general ac- 
quaintance with its analysis, acquired by its articulate 
use, as well as from our knowledge of its current litera- 
ture, makes it unnecessary to enter upon an investiga- 
tion of such boundless extent as to follow its written 
produdlions with seriatim comparisons. The afiiuence 
of English literature imposes upon a mere historical 



204 KI.IZABKTHAN AGK. 

sketch a fastidious choice in seledling examples of its 
preservation or improvement. It will be sufficient, 
therefore, to confine our attention to such periods or 
authors as have had a determining influence upon its 
development. In this light, it is expedient to notice the 
reign of Klizabeth, when we first find its purity estab- 
lished and acknowledged, and when it culminated in 
a state of perfedlion that has sometimes been compared 
to the Augustan age of the Latin. For the more par- 
ticular execution of our purpose, we can trace its import- 
ant features and charadleristics in such vmters as Bacon 
and Shakespeare, Milton and Macaulay. Our first step 
in Modern English will introduce us to the Shakes- 
pearean epoch, known also as the Elizabethan era. 
That queen, however, was too meanly parsimonious to 
exhibit a liberal support for men of letters. Her prime 
minister had about the same regard for them as that 
profanely expressed by a distinguished statesman of our 
own country whenever he mentioned "them literary 
fellers." She treated with entire contempt the most 
supreme genius of her court, and Bacon went unre- 
warded without any employment, except that of prose- 
cuting Essex, who had been her lover and his bene- 
facftor. The distinguished historian Hayward had 
incurred her resentment because, in speaking of the 
first years in the reign of Henry IV., she thought he 
inculcated a spirit of boldness and fadlion. She called 
upon Bacon to find some quirk in the lavs^ of treason by 
which he could be prosecuted for that crime, but Bacon 
advised her positively that there was not the slightCvSt 
pretext for the charge. Upon its being suggested that 
Hayward was not really the author of the book that 



ELIZABETHAN AGE. 205 

bore his name, she asked if he could be condemned to 
the torture to make him reveal the real author. Bacon's 
answer was at once witty and unique. ' * Na}^ madame, ' ' 
he replied, "he is a dodlor — never rack his person, but 
rack his style; let him have pen, ink, and paper, and 
help of books, and be enjoined to continue the story 
where it breaketh off, and I will undertake, by collat- 
ing the styles, to judge whether he were the author or 
no." Thus adds Hume, who relates the story (vol. 11., 
120): "Had it not been for Bacon's humanity, this 
author, a man of letters, had been put to the rack for a 
most innocent performance." The authors who placed 
dependence upon court patronage were disappointed. 
Burleigh had an unfriendly disposition towards Bacon, 
and obstru(5led the queen's bounty to Spenser. The 
latter died in poverty, and the former did not obtain 
preferment till the next reign. John Lyly, the fash- 
ionable court poet, and the author of the celebrated 
"Kuphues," after spending manj^ years to entertain 
his sovereign and her favorites, at last wrote to the 
queen herself: "Thirteen years your Highness' ser- 
vant, but yet nothing. A thousand hopes, but all noth- 
ing ; a hundred promises, but yet nothing. * * * 
My last will is shorter than mine invention ; but three 
legacies — patience to my creditors, melancholy without 
measure to my friends, and beggary without shame to 
my family." Shakespeare, who conferred a matchless 
splendor upon his age and upon his race, stood upon 
the banks of the Thames, an unhonored spedlator, as 
the royal barge passed to the Tower. But we accept 
him as the founder of a new dynasty in the republic of 
letters, who raised the dialec5l of his country into the 



206 ELIZABETHAN AGE. 

most powerful expression that human thought has ever 
received. It is, therefore, allowable to dwell more 
largely upon Shakespeare and his contemporaries than 
any other modern writer in our language, except John 
Milton, the poet, scholar, and philosopher. 



CHAPTER IX. 

MODERN ENGLISH— 1550 TO THE BEGINNING OF THE XIX. 
CENTURY. 



4. 



Marlowe and the Dramatic 
Poets of the Renaissance. 
His Dr. Faustus, the Pro- 
totype of Goethe's, and 
his Richard III. , of Shake- 
speare's. The First Writer 
in Blank Verse. 

Lamb's Criticisms. 

Ben Jonson . His Extraordin- 
ary Skill. Friendship for 
Shakespeare. His English 
Grammar. 

Dramatic Writing. The 
Miracle Plays. 

Customs of the Age Affected 
its Language. 

The New English Intro- 
duced by John Lyly. His 
"Euphues." The First 



Prose Novel in Our Lan- 
guage. Description of the 
Book. Its Effect upon 
the Language of other 
Authors. 

English Fiction. Thomas 
Nash. His Jack Wilton. 
Its Pure English Style. 

Ballad Poetry. 

English Takes its Present 
Form. Example Given. 
Some of the Changes. 
Correct Use of the Verb. 
William Lily's Grammar. 
Its Use Required by Order 
of the King. 

The Derivations from Latin, 
and how the same were 
made. 



When we speak of Shakespeare we find a great host 
of names that have come down to us with less or more 
distinction, and several of them produced works that 
reached a high degree of excellence, and are still read 
with interest. Among these, especially, are Marlowe, 
Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, and "rare Ben Jon- 



2o8 



KARI,Y DRAMATISTS. 



son." There were several others of lesser note, such 
as Hey wood, Middleton, Rowle}^ Ford, Lyly, Nash, 
and Green. Among them all Marlowe was the first in 
time, and probably the first in the order of his genius. 
The Faustus of Marlowe is a poem of diabolism, that 
turns upon the feats performed by a personal devil. 
Undoubtedly Goethe is indebted to this grand intelle(5l- 
ual performance for his extravagant and highly wrought 
tale of the same name ; but the closing scene of the Mar- 
lowe Faustus in fervid passion, pathos, and overwhelming 
terror and despair far exceeds its modern counterpart. 
Marlowe's Richard III. is thought to have been the 
prototype of Shakespeare's, and to contain many 
splendid passages not inferior to the latter. His scenes 
are hurled upon the imagination without careful polish 
or exact method, and without regard to the conventional 
unities of time or space, as in the old tragedies. He 
disregarded the rules of dramatic construcftion and rep- 
resentations. Ridiculous and grotesque scenes stand 
closely with those of great beauty, and often with those 
of thrilling agony and power. But what is more to the 
purpose of this treatise, he is entitled to the distindlion of 
being the first writer who used blank verse in English 
tragedy. This was the metre in w^hich he composed 
his " Tamberlaine the Great," and which he carried to 
still greater perfedlion in his second play, ' ' The Life and 
Death of Dr. Faustus." He thus not only emancipated 
English prosody from the annoyance of sacrificing 
thought or sentiment to the conventional form of rh3''m- 
ing composition, and he illustrated in his own poems 
the grandest poetical measure that has ever been made 
use of by the tragic or epic muse. Favorable specimens 



BARI,Y DRAMATISTS. 2O9 

of Marlowe's style are found in the numerous histories 
of English literature, which it would be inconvenient 
to cite in this mere sketch of the language. With 
regard to Massinger, Middleton, and Rowley, Charles 
L^amb tells us that there is an exquisiteness of moral 
sensibility making men's eyes to gush out tears of 
delight at their sweet tragic comedy ; and we are in- 
formed by the same inimitable critic that Ford was of 
the first order of poets, seeking for sublimity, not by 
parcels, in metaphors or visible images, but direcftly 
where she has her full residence in the hearts of 
men, in the actions and sufferings of the greatest minds. 
The task of discriminating between the merits of 
these writers is, perhaps, one of curious comparison 
only ; but it is conceded on all hands that Ben Jonson 
has a place of his own among them all. He had more 
originality than the others, for he invented his own 
plots, and displayed extraordinary skill in contriving 
situations for the display of his characters. " It is be- 
lieved," sa3^s a modern writer, " that there is not a whim 
or affe(5lation in common life noted in any memoir of 
the manners of that age which he has not drawm out 
and framed in his vigorous and idiomatic English, and 
for strength in diction, for good sense and wise reflec- 
tions, no other of his contemporaries deserve to be com- 
pared to him." These qualities have secured the affec- 
tion of mankind even to this day, and we delight to 
speak of him almost as we would speak of a personal 
friend, *'0, rare old Ben." One Jack Young gave a 
mason eighteen pence to cut these words on the stone 
over his grave in Westminster Abbey. The following 
lines from ' ' The Fortunate Isles, ' ' a masque designed for 
14 



2IO E)ARI,Y DRAMATISTS. 

the court (1626), is an instance of his inspiration sug- 
gesting some of our modern inventions : 

"When you ha' made your glasses, gardens in the depth of 
winter, when you have penetrated hills like ayre (air), dived to 
the bottom of the sea like leade, and rise' again like corke * * 

"When you have made the world your gallery, can dispatch 
a business in some three minutes with the Antipodes, and in five 
more negotiate the Globe over, you must be poore still." 

Ten years previously Shakespeare's Queen Mab had 
said, " I'll put a girdle 'round the earth in forty min- 
utes." 

Jonson was ten years younger than Shakespeare, 
and outlived him twenty-one. His comedy, "Every 
Man to His Humor," was performed in 1598 by a com- 
pany to which Shakespeare belonged, and in which he 
took the leading part. Their relations were those of 
intimate friendship and constant intercourse. The esti- 
mation in which he held his great contemporary is thus 
expressed : 

' ' The players have often mentioned it as an honor to Shakes- 
peare that in his writing (whatsoever he penn'd) he never blotted 
out line. My answer hath been, ' would he had blotted a thou- 
sand,' which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told 
posterity this, but for their ignorance, who choose that circumstance 
to commend their friend by wherein he most faulted, and to justifie 
my owne candor (for I loved the man, and do honor his memory, 
on this side idolatry, as much as any). He was, indeed, honest, and 
ofan open and free nature, and excellent phansie, brave notions, 
and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that facility that 
sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped, sufftaminandtis 
eraty as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own power ; 
would the rule of it had beene so, too. Many times he fell into 
those things, could not escape laughter ; as when he said, in the 
person of Caesar, one speaking to him : * Caesar, thou dost me 



BEN JONSON'S grammar. ' 211 

wrong.' He replied: 'Caesar did never wrong, but with just 
cause,' and such like, which were ridiculous. But he redeemed his 
vices with his virtues. There was evermore in him to be praysed 
(praised) than to be pardoned." 

But what most concerns our present subjedl in his 
works is " The English Grammar, made by Ben Jonson, 
for the benefit of all strangers." More than one hun- 
dred and twenty years had elapsed since the publication 
of William Lily's Grammar, during which period the 
English language had received much cultivation and 
refinement. The progress of its literature had been en- 
riched by Spenser, Shakespeare, and Bacon, to say 
nothing of a host of minor authors, who have left in it 
the legacies of their wisdom and genius. 

Jonson 's Grammar was probably well adapted for 
the purpose intended by its author, '*the benefit of 
strangers. ' ' English had assumed its independent posi- 
tion as one of the cultivated idioms of Europe, and its 
critical study w^as attradling the attention of foreigners. 
The book was well suited to the needs of the people, 
and was useful enough to the natives as w^ell as to 
strangers, for any one who would read it with care could 
obtain a pretty fair grammatical knowledge of the lan- 
guage. He admitted w among the English letters, al- 
though not used in the Latin, and he made u and v but 
one charadler. His parts of grammar are etymology and 
syntax, while prosody and orthography are not parts of 
grammar, but diffused like the blood and spirit through 
the whole. He gives particular attention to illustrating 
principles by carefully seledled examples from the early 
authors, not forgetting a good deal of Latin. 

It would be curious to trace the causes which gave 



212 DRAMATIC WRITING. 

this direc5lion at that particular period to dramatic writ- 
ing, and which called forth such a galaxy of authors in 
that department of literature. Princes and other men 
of eminence extended neither patronage nor encourage- 
ment to those engaged in the art of play-writing. The 
religious sentiment of the age looked with disfavor upon 
the stage, the Puritans abhorred it, and the higher 
classes had scarcely made it fashionable. There is no 
way of accounting for the remarkable distinction which 
those writers enjoyed, unless it be that the people, who 
must be amused, flocked to the performances to witness 
the many scenes of wit, humor, and passion with which 
their works abound, and the descriptions of manners and 
events, of morals and impurities, with which human 
genius had invested the dramatis per soncE . 

But, perhaps, there is an historical explanation of 
the sudden and remarkable splendor to which dra- 
matic writing all at once attained. It is well known 
that down to the reign of Henry VIII. the stage had 
been occupied solely with mysteries, moralities, and 
miracle-pla3^s, all more or less under the government of 
the Roman Catholic church. Henry VIII. abolished 
Catholicism as a state church, broke up the monasteries, 
and proclaimed his own as the chosen church of the 
state. Then the proper stage burst its fetters, and the 
latent power of the dramatic poets and authors came 
into possession. This was about the year 1525. 

A similar change in public taste was made mani- 
fest 270 years later, when the sacred fires of poetry 
almost instantaneously were kindled by the Penin- 
sular War (1800), which fired the imagination and 
purified the tastes of the British people, and Scott, 



THK FIRST PROSE ROMANCE. 213 

Byron, Southey, Moore, Wordsworth, Tom Campbell, 
Keats, Shelley, and Milman appeared almost at the 
same moment, and with a rapid step attained to 
the highest pinnacle of literary perfedlion. It was 
a brilliant constellation, that only grew dim when 
the iron-horse, driven by steam, chased Pegasus away 
from the eminence he had so suddenly reached. 

It may be convenient to notice just here that the first 
prose romance in our language is also ascribed to this 
period. Elizabeth had a passion for display and deco- 
ration. Her garments and palaces were ornamented to 
excess. Her ladies and courtiers adorned their persons 
to gain her favor, and the lords sold their lands in order 
to appear in her presence in rich and striking costumes. 
The pageants she delighted in when journeying were on a 
scale of such magnificence and prodigality of expenditure 
as sometimes to impoverish her entertainers. Wherever 
she stopped she seemed to be upon a field of cloth of gold. 
A writer in the latter years of Elizabeth laments, ac- 
cording to the fashion of all grumblers, at dress : " that 
it is impossible to know who is noble, who is worshipful, 
who is a gentleman, who is not, because all persons 
dress indiscriminately, in silks, velvets, satins, damasks, 
taffetas, and such like, notwithstanding that they be 
both base by birth, mean by estate, and servile by call- 
ing." And this he adds with due solemnity: "I 
count a great confusion, and a general disorder ; God 
be merciful unto us." And when he comes to the par- 
ticular causes that excite his spleen against the women, 
he exclaims : ' ' Their gowns and kirtles are of silk or 
grogram, or taffeta, some of scarlet and of fine cloth at 
ten or even twenty shillings a yard. These are over- 



214 THK *'NKW ENGI.ISH." 

laid with lace two or three fingers broad, or else edged 
with velvet six fingers broad, with sleeves hanging to 
the ground, so that when they have all these goodly 
robes upon them women seem to be the smallest part of 
themselves, for the real woman is only like a puppet or 
mormo inside to give motion to the great artificial 
woman of haberdashery that we discern going about. 
What is there to make a woman pleasanter in gaudy- 
colored silks, and cloth stockings, with corked shoes, 
pantofles, and slippers, black, white, green, and yellow, 
covered with gold and silver embroidery, or in the scarfs, 
the velvet masks, the scented gloves, and those devils' 
spectacles, their looking-glasses, which the)^ carry with 
them in their girdles?" 

This taste for finery and easy and graceful manners 
had a marked influence upon language and words. Not 
only were Latin neologisms resorted to to eke out phrases 
but all the Anglo-Saxon and Norman-French powers of 
our language were developed for expressive words and 
beautiful sounds and all sorts of what was considered 
elegance in speech. Quaint phrases, brilliant conceits, 
gave one pre-eminence at the court of this learned sover- 
eign, who read Virgil in lyatin and Plutarch in Greek ; 
and the ingenuity of her poets was exercised in finding 
fanciful combinations of expression. Taine says of 
them that " they played with words, twisted, put them 
out of shape, and gilded and embroidered and plumed 
their language like their garments." Whatever v/as 
trivial and commonplace became the subjedl of ridicu- 
lous comparisons, and the simple truth was covered up 
with a monstrous avalanche of antitheses. The reputed 
author of this " New English," as it was then called, 



KUPHUKS — ^JOHN I.YI.Y. 215 

was the famous John Lyly.* Some of his poems are still 
admired for their harmonj^ and graceful flow. His plays 
were composed for court entertainments, and the parts 
were taken by children. A few fragments are quoted 
by Mr. A. Mills, which display much fine feeling. He 
was held in high esteem at the court of Elizabeth, and 
upon the produ(5lion of his prose romance called 
" Kuphues," he was honored with the title of " King of 
Letters." For this distin(5lion he was probably not a 
little indebted to the flatteries he addressed to his royal 
patron. He complimented the ladies of the court, also, 
telling them he was indifferent to the critics and only 
aspired to interest their judgment and merit their approba- 
tion ; and that he would rather know that his * ' Euphues ' ' 
was in their dressing-cases than lying open upon the table 
of the learned. One of his recorded flatteries to the 
queen I give as a not unfavorable example of his style : 
" Touching the beauty of this prince, her countenance, 
her majesty, her personage, I cannot think that it may 
be suflaciently commended, when it cannot be too much 
marveled at ; so that I am constrained to say, as Prax- 
itiles did when he began to paint Venus and her son, 
who doubted whether the world could afford colors good 
enough for two such fair faces, and I whether my tongue 
can yield words to blaze that beauty, the perfecftion where- 
of none can imagine ; which, seeing it is so, I must do like 
those that want a clear sight, who, being not able to discern 
the sun in the sky, are enforced to behold it in the water. ' ' 
At the age of 25 Lyly composed the work by which 
he is best known. It first appeared in 1580 in two parts, 

* The orthography of this name is not uniformly the same. In some authors 
the spelling is Lilly, and in others Lillie. This, however, can lead to little or no 
confusion, since they all refer to the same writer. 



2l6 



KUPHUKS — ^JOHN LYLY. 



each with a different title, the first being ' ' Kuphues, 
the Anatomy of Wit," and the other, "Kuphues and 
His England." It is said to have been written for the 
special delight of the court ladies and their friends, and 
was hailed with a burst of admiration, and the name of 
his hero was given to the new literature and the * * new 
language." We speak of Euphuism to this day as 
indicating excessive affe(5tation in the use of language 
and a high-flown style of conversation, that is ridiculed 
by Sir Walter Scott in the speech of Sir Piercie Shafton, 
a chara(5ler in ' ' The Monastery." lyyly's aim was to go 
beyond everything pradliced by the most learned, the 
most affedled, or the most florid in decorating his 
thoughts. In carrying out this plan he invented a kind 
of composition that we can scarcely conceive of as hav- 
ing been used by people of common sense. Tedious 
from its excessive prolixity, and disfigured by the most 
puerile vanity and strained analogies, it contained little 
information, and nothing that has been useful to suc- 
ceeding generations of authors. The most insignificant 
occurrence is compared by Euphues to everything else 
he can think of. He says, for instance, with reference 
to something he has seen : " The toad is hideous, but it 
has a beautiful stone in its head ; gold is only found in 
the muddy earth, the sweet almond in a hard shell, and 
virtue in the heart of man that his fellowmen often take 
for deformity. Do you not find the most terrible poisons 
in painted vases, the largest serpents in the greenest 
verdure, and the ugliest toads in the clearest water?" 
and the sentence is padded out with half a dozen simi- 
lar comparisons equally forced and equally false. Mys- 
terious phrases and studied combinations are alone con- 



EUPHUKS — ^JOHN I.YI.Y. 217 

genial to this style in preference to the simple narrative 
form of the Utopia, v/hich preceded it in the early part 
of the century. The Utopia, however, was composed 
in Latin, and could not have served Lyly as a prototype 
for his fidlion, which was written in English, and was, 
therefore, the first prose romance that appeared in our 
mother tongue. If we pass a severe censure upon its 
style, we must allow him much credit for originality and 
boldness, as the literature of his own country afforded 
no models. He relied upon his own inventions and 
struck out for himself his own imaginative offspring. 
With him begins the romance of manners, of passions, 
and the interests of living men. He speaks no more of 
Arthur, Charlemagne, Lancelot, and their prodigious 
companions ; nor does he speak, as in Utopia, of an 
ideal state of society, inferior only to that of Paradise. 
He describes men who were his contemporaries, and 
things and ways that bear a resemblance to the realities 
of his age. His judgment of language, his views of 
men, and his analysis of sentiments are not very well 
grounded, but we cannot too highly appreciate the awk- 
wardness of a first trial. 

It is true that Sir Thomas Malory's "La Morte 
d ' Arthur " was of an earlier date, and was, as some 
allege, the first book in prose that Caxton published in 
England. It was, however, only a compilation of the leg- 
endary tales about Arthur and the Knights of the Round 
Table. Lyly was also undoubtedly familiar wnth the 
short novels of Boccaccio, that Hallam thinks were the 
best written stories of the age ; and, further, it has been 
surmised that the strange language of the ' ' Euphues ' ' 
was of Spanish importation, from the fa(5l that in 1532 



2l8 EUPHUKS — ^JOHN I.YI,Y. 

I^ord Bernier had translated a Spanish book, which 
was full of the same kind of ingenious comparisons, 
borrowed from natural history and the supposed vir- 
tues and attributes of plants and stones. The French 
stories of the 12th and 13th centuries had become accli- 
mated in England, for the Anglo-Normans delighted in 
tales of knight-errantry. But after all it was I<yly who 
first wrote an original romance in English prose describ- 
ing the actual details of current life. It has not been re- 
printed since the reign of Charles I. The literature of 
English fi(5lion was regenerated b}^ Richardson and 
Fielding ; they were supplanted by the essayists like 
Addison and Steele, and sentimentalists like Sterne and 
Johnson, who in their turn gave place to the romantic 
school of Sir Walter Scott ; and next came the largeness, 
the richness of incident, the fineness of obser\^ation, and 
the attradlive realism of the modern novel as we know 
it today. 

Euphues is the story of a young Greek of that 
period who undertakes a journe}^ to Naples and then 
to England in order to study mankind and their 
governments. Instrudled by what he has observed, 
he addresses a series of letters to his friends, in 
which he relates his experience and discusses the 
duties of marriage, the education of children, and 
the study of religion. These letters are connedled by de- 
scriptions and observations, which constitute the text 
of the book, and they inculcate the purity of love, as if 
he were the mental progenitor of Grandison, and the 
education of children, as if he spoke from the experience 
of Ascham, in his book of ' ' The Schoolmaster. ' ' In the 
second part of his romance he has come into England 



EUPHUKS— JOHN I.YI.Y. 219 

with his companion Philautus. They are both charmed 
with the country, which has a queen beautiful as Venus, 
more chaste than Vesta, and with a nobility of which he 
says : ' ' The lords and gentlemen of that court are 
also an example for all others to follow — true types 
of nobility, the only stay and staff of honor; brave, 
courteouSj stout soldiers, apt to revel in peace and 
ride in war ; in fight fierce, not dreading death ; in friend- 
ship firm, not breaking promise ; courteous to all that 
deserve well, cruel to none that deserve ill. Their ad- 
versaries they trust not — that showeth their wisdom ; 
their enemies they fear not — that argueth their cour- 
age. They are not apt to proffer injuries, not fit to 
take any ; loath to pick quarrels, but longing to revenge 
them." 

For ten or twelve years Euphues was the fashion, 
and all who piqued themselves on their elegance, spoke 
in his affedled language, and learned from his book their 
ideas of natural history and their forms of pedantic ex- 
pression. Wise people scolded, and Nash scoffed in vain ; 
and Shakespeare makes Falstaff admonish the king de- 
risively in the inflated language of the court. The read- 
ing of the book was current until the reign of Charles I., 
when it ceased to be reprinted. Its influence, however, 
extended far beyond the brief period of its glory. The 
first impression would be that Sidnej^, a few years later, 
had crammed a good mau}^ euphuistic derivatives into 
his elegant and refined prose. The following extradl 
may be considered a fair example : 

"A happy couple : he joyed in her, she joying to herself, but 
in herself, because she joyed in him ; both increased their riches by 
giving to each other ; each making one life double, because they 



220 KUPHUKS — ^JOHN I.YI.Y. 

made a double life one ; where desire never wanted satisfaction, 
nor satisfaction ever bred satiety ; he ruling, because she would obey, 
or rather, because she would obey, she therein ruled." 

Even * ' rare old Ben ' ' could not guard himself 
against the contagion. As an instance, take the follow- 
ing passage from a speech of one of the dramatis personcB 
in his play of " Bartholomew Fair," acted in the year 
1 6 14. He was arguing that a wise man ought not to 
abandon a public good design on account of a particular 
disaster. I preserve the orthography of the original : 

* ' The husbandman ought not for one unthankful yeer, to forsake 
the plough. The Shepheard ought not for one scabb'd sheep to throw 
up his tar-boxe. The pilot ought not for one leake i' the poope to 
quit the Helme ; nor the Alderman ought not for one custerd more 
at meale to give up his cloake. The Constable ought not to breake 
his staffe and forsweare the watch for one roaring night ; nor the 
piper o' the Parish {ut parvis componere magna solebam) to put 
up his pipes for one rainy Sunday," etc. 

And Dr. Johnson, at the distance of a century after- 
wards, was strongly tindlured with the same false kind 
of antitheses, which abound in his overloaded style. 
Kven Tennyson has occasionally a touch of the old con- 
ceit, as — 

" His honor, rooted in dishonor, stood, 
And faith, unfaithful, kept him falsely true." 

The burlesque pieces exhibited on the modern stage 
teem with examples of this play upon words, and the 
merits of the play, if it has any, are forgotten in the ad- 
miration of the perversion of the sense of words. 

These ridiculous images and ornaments of speech at 
the outset afforded Nash a subjedl of invedlive and 
satire, and had not escaped the agreeable wit of Shakes- 



THOMAS NASH. 221 

peare himself. The strong, plain Saxon-Bnglish of 
Dryden and Defoe at length restored just and natural 
modes of expression ; and now it is futile to search 
standard authors for this unnatural manner of speaking 
or writing, and the change in language and style appear 
nowhere to more advantage than in the standard Eng- 
lish novel of the present time. They are more numerous 
than those of any other country, and enjoy greater favor 
even than those of France and Germany. Surely Lyly, 
who was the first to lead the way to English ficftion, is 
entitled to a special place in the history of our literature 
and language, since books of ficflion now^ exceed in 
number the combined publications in theology, philoso- 
phy, science, and history. 

The origin of English fi(5lion in prose has been also 
ascribed to Thomas Nash, an indefatigable dramatist, 
pamphleteer, and wit, and also the author of the novel 
''Jack Wilton." Others think that the fidlion of real 
life commences with Defoe. Lyly was fourteen years 
older than Nash, and his book had appeared not less 
than that period before Jack Wilton. Defoe was nearly 
a century later. 

To display the circumstances that influence the 
forms of language, we must resort to the expressional 
methods which prevailed at the time to be considered, 
bearing in mind that all changes are usually the 
product of agencies that are not consciously created. 
They come from the experience and necessities of man- 
kind, from the advancing arts of life, and from the pur- 
suit of human activities. " Custom," says Ben Jonson, 
" is the most certain mistress of language, as the public 
stamp makes the current money." The impulse given 



222 NASH'S PURE ENGI^ISH. 

to English letters during the early years of Elizabeth 
came from the fashion ; beautiful garments gave rise to 
beautiful words and to an elegant and swelling dic5lion. 
The Italian and Spanish influence had infec5led the taste 
of the court ; and the courtiers and parasites seemed to 
have laid in v/ait for nev/ words and strange forms of 
expression. No education was deemed complete with- 
out visiting the Continent and witnessing the fading 
glories of the Italian Renaissance. It is among the cer- 
tainties that English became somewhat tindlured with 
the manners and colloquial phrases acquired abroad. 
Along with the dramatists and poets of the English Re- 
naissance were other writers, and among them lyodge 
and Greene, who wrote novels and an endless variety of 
pamphlets in the affecfted style of Euphues. The 
Jack Wilton of Nash was on the other hand written in 
a natural flowing style and in the racy vernacular famil- 
iar to the people ; it had a most salutary tendency in 
favor of pure English, and is thought to be the most 
complete romance in English previous to those of Rich- 
ardson. Literature had done little for the cultivation of 
our language during the dull interval since Geoffrey 
Chaucer had kindled the sacred fire of his poesy, but 
the people loved it. It was the plain and ordinary 
speech of their daily life. They had played a mighty 
though silent part since the Canterbury Tales ap- 
peared. They had enriched their native dialedl with 
many energic words, and moulded it into grammatical 
and even synta(5lical flexibility, so that it was said that 
the common people of Eondon spoke a purer idiom than 
was heard from the same class in any continental city 
where language had been most cultivated. It is also to 



B ALIDADS. 223 

be remembered that the songs and ballads of the people 
had been one of the strongholds of our mother tongue 
throughout the whole period of this literary gloom. 
The songs of the people had been from the earliest 
Saxon times. The Saxon swine-herd sang them in the 
stable when Csedmon withdrew for shame that he was 
the only one who could not sing. The words in which 
these simple melodies are expressed are taken from the 
local dialedls, but are held in favor by all ranks ; even 
the accomplished and fastidious Sidney never heard 
sung nor read the ballad of ' * Chevy Chase ' ' wdthout 
feeling his blood stirred in every vein. The "Folk 
Songs " have no known origin. Those which celebrate 
the exploits of " Robin Hood," which are still popular, 
were probably composed by men who could not write 
their names, and their authors are forgotten. Men and 
maidens sang ballads, they were heard at merry-makings, 
around the May-pole, at social and festive assemblies, in 
the streets, in the fields, and on the sea. They were 
known by heart by one generation, and transmitted to 
the children of their love as a charming and precious 
heritage. They are found in all regions of the earth. 
I remember that when in the Indian country I heard an 
old Indian humming slowly what, not being an Indian, 
I could not understand, but which, undoubtedly, was a 
song of his tribe. 

Great numbers of these pieces have been colledled 
in England, and the airs w^hich accompany them 
have been made, as we are told, the bases of grand 
musical compositions. Such is said to be the facft 
in the opera of " I^e Desert," and the comic one of 
" I^allah Rookh." The Greeks combined poetry, danc- 



224 BAI,I,ADS. 

ing, and" music. Homer was a singer, and Pindar made 
odes and set them to music, and danced them with a 
lyric troop in honor of the gods around the altar of 
Bacchus. All the music of the Greeks came from 
this origin, and was placed under the protedlion of 
the children of Jupiter. Ballads at the time re- 
ferred to existed in England and Scotland by the 
hundreds and, perhaps, by the thousands. The min- 
strelsy of the ''Scottish Border" is replete with the 
glowing myths and golden legends of the olden time, 
and the tales of wars and superstitions are embalmed in 
Mediaeval song. The inhabitants of that romantic re- 
gion down even to this day retain something of the wild 
and mystic traditions which gave the bard a welcome 
greeting to cottage fireside and castle hall. The songs 
were stored up in the minds of the people and kept alive 
for centuries by recitations and singing. Some one has 
said, "let me make the songs of a people and I care 
not who makes their laws." However true this may 
have been with regard to government, they constituted 
to a much greater extent the body and soul of our lan- 
guage at the period of which we speak, and they can 
only cease to be " interesting with the existence of our 
mother tongue, and all that genius and learning have 
recorded in it." 

But the Renaissance brought a race of writers in 
every species of composition, and our speech at once 
displayed the inherent principle of its vitality. The 
influences which had operated in Italy a century and a 
half before, were only now^ coming into full force in the 
home of our ancestors. The dramatists appeared first, 
and fortunately they had all received the benefit of uni- 



THE DRAMATISTS. 225 

versity training, but were imbued with a passionate love 
for their native tongue. In this spontaneous outburst 
of tragical harmony, society did but little, and genius 
did everything. The first of these writers had neither 
ancestry, opulence, nor courts to befriend them. Penury 
was their birthright, toil their profession, and genius 
their only patron. They led a gay and reckless life, 
and died while young in want and misery. Marlowe 
breathed his last when he was not yet thirty, in 1593, 
from an injury received in a tavern brawl. Greene 
at the age of thirty-two was buried by a poor shoe- 
maker who had from compassion afforded him shel- 
ter in his last moments. Nash was not over thirty at 
the time of his death. They wrote exclusively in Eng- 
lish. Their phraseology was rugged and swelling, their 
thoughts were fresh and vigorous, their plots full of 
blood and thunder, and replete with strong situations 
and appalling catastrophies. It was the first wild wave 
of the English Renaissance, rolling in upon the awak- 
ened spirit, foam-crested, and breaking on the shore 
with furious explosions. The evenness of spirit and 
temper soon appeared in Sidney, in Massinger, in Beau- 
mont and Fletcher. It was not before the days of 
Waller (1605- 168 7) that there was anything compara- 
ble to the gentle, measured flow of transparent verse in 
the style of Dryden and Pope. 

It may not be amiss to introduce the following 
stanzas, entitled " The School," taken from some small 
poems in the '* Book of Demeanor," written about 1619. 
Shakespeare had been dead two years, but Jonson was 
still alive ; and perhaps it represents better than either 
of these authors the early forms of Modern English : 
15 



226 l^NGLISH ASSUMEJS ITS MODICRN FORM. 

Stand straight upright, and both thy feet 

Together closely standing, 
Be sure on't ever let thine eye 

Be still at thy commanding. 

If thou doe give or fill the drinke 

With duty set it downe, 
And take it back with manlike cheere, 

Not like a rustick sowne. 

If on an errand thou be sent 

Make haste, and do not stay, 
When all have done, observe the time, 

Serve God and take away. 

When thou hast done and dined well, 

Remember then repaire 
To school again with cheerfulness, 

Be that thy chiefest care. 

There is not a word, and scarcely the form of a word, 
that a good writer would decline to adopt today as good 
English. The Saxon Runes have disappeared, the let- 
ters are all in our alphabet, and the dropping of a letter, 
such as final e, would make it entirely modem. 

Thanks to the early authors just mentioned, the lan- 
guage was now moulded into shape. The Anglo-Saxon 
inflexions had disappeared, the only trace left being the 
genitive case of nouns, as in the example, princes home, 
denoting possession, for which we have substituted 
simply the possessive sign. Their words can be assimi- 
lated to our present vocabulary by dropping or adding a 
letter to the antiquated form when they differ from our 
own orthography. The changes in the ends or body of 
words to limit or extend their sense are such as we are 
familiar with today ; and we find the same abundance of 
particles bristling upon every page of our modern 



THE RKGUIvAR VERB. 22/ 

authors. We can easily read and understand what they 
have written, excepting terms that have become obso- 
lete in the course of three centuries. Their grammar 
numbered the same parts of speech, and the article was 
finally received into English etymology to stay. The 
substantive was strangely divided into a noun and an 
adje(5live, a distindlion still maintained by some gram- 
marians, under the compound term of a substantive ad- 
jedlive ; the genders of nouns were founded upon the 
natural distin(5lion of sex, and the arbitrary application 
of the Latin and Anglo-Saxon discarded. The plural 
of nouns was formed by adding .? to the singular, with 
the exception of those in en, as in the instance of ox, 
oxen, woman, zvomen, child, children. The pronouns, of 
course, follow the rules applicable to the nouns thej^ 
represent. 

The correc5l use of the verb is a subjedl of the great- 
est importance, and it is often very difiicult to decide 
what shade of distinc5lion ought to be made. Even in 
the present state of our grammar the use of the second 
person singular of the indicative is continually undergo- 
ing controversy ; and the writings of professional authors 
upon the general grammatical stru<5lure of the verb, if 
not the language itself, is the constant objedl of criticism. 
These criticisms go far to convince us that bad language 
is worse than bad English, and that probably no one 
has yet written perfecft English, and that no one proba- 
bly ever will until the language shall become dead and 
petrified. This much is certain, that the early works of 
Modern English furnish us with indubitable evidence 
that the regular verb had assumed its simple form and 
relations by which to express time present, past, and 



228 



KING HENRY'S GRAMMAR. 



future, and its accord in person and number with its sub- 
je<5l. This is worthy of notice, since at that early day 
there had been but one English grammar in existence. 

Previous to 1510 no writer on English grammar had 
appeared. At that date William Lily, a teacher in St. 
Paul's School, London, wrote and published an English 
grammar for the use of his school. It seems from all 
accounts that several other persons had written, or were 
about to write, upon the same subjecft, either for profit 
or distincftion. All competition, however, was summa- 
rily suppressed by the intervention of Henry VIII. 
Lily's Grammar was patented by the crown, and was, 
therefore, familiarly known as King Henry's Grammar, 
and the law commanded that it should be * * adopted and 
taught as the common standard of grammatical instruc- 
tion." It is affirmed that Dr. Colet, Dean of St. Paul's, 
one of the most accomplished scholars in England, as 
well as Erasmus and other philologivSts, were valuable 
contributors to its composition. The king undertook to 
impose grammar as he had religion, and with almost 
the same success, for no grammar ever exercised a 
wider influence. For two hundred years it was taught 
in the public schools of England that were subje<5t to 
the visitations of the bishops. Outside of their juris- 
didlion, it did not appear to have the force of law, for 
in 1586 William Bullokar published "A Brief Grammar 
for English," and in 1634 Ben Jonson produced "The 
English Grammar, made by Ben Jonson, for the benefit 
of strangers, out of his own observations of the English 
language now spoken and in use." 

Whether these works embodied all the improvements 
that had been made, they certainly exhibit a struc5lure 



LATIN DERIVATIVES. 229 

of language that is purely analytical and English, which 
is the English of today ; and with our indeclinables and 
adjec5lives having no genders, and with the simplest of 
all auxiliary verbs, it can only be through gross care- 
lessness, or ignorance, that we can write so inartificially 
or ungrammatically as to convey an evident meaning 
that is not intended. Our errors are the result of corrup- 
tions, commencing almost habitually with the illiterate. 

Such then was the noble and powerful idiom born 
of the struggle and hostility of five hundred years, that 
was placed at the disposal of English writers and speak- 
ers. The diffusion of Greek and Roman literature en- 
riched it even at that early day with an influx of terms, 
which gracefully took their place in an English setting. 
And just here it may not be out of place to say some- 
thing in regard to the derivation of Latin through the 
old Norman-French. The examination of a few words 
will illustrate the process. Take the Latin words tem- 
pestas, descendo^ maternus, affedio, progenies^ ccslestis^ im- 
ploro, expiro. Now these eight words have been changed 
into French without much change in their form and 
none in their meaning, as follows : tempetes, descendre, 
niaternale^ affection^ progeniture^ celeste, implorer, ex- 
pirer. It turns out that all of these words are derived 
from the Latin, and that two thirds of the syllables are 
identical in orthography as well as meaning. 

It is interesting to observe how these words will bear 
a like construdlion into English, as they originally did 
into French. Our sonorous vocables tempest, maternal, 
celestial, progeny, affection, and our verbs implore and 
expire, are all palpable transmutations of Latin words, 
and we discover that the French language is the inter- 



230 I.ATIN DERIVATIVES. 

sedling medium of the operation. Indeed, these simi- 
larities are found to be so numerous as to pervade a 
very large proportion of the I^atin terms in our language, 
and establish the probability that the English received 
them through the French crucible. 

I have space to refer to only a very few examples of 
the words we derive diredll}^ from the Latin. The lyatin 
word populus^ for instance, stood long before the Romance 
parent of French existed, and even before the Christian 
era, ior people, which it still means today. When after 
a thousand years it became chipped and ground to fit 
its Norman set-off, peuple, and was then Anglicized into 
people^ after the lapse of a few additional centuries, 
.no derivative adjedtive accompanied it in these long 
transformations. Direc5l recourse was, therefore, had to 
the fountain of classical Latin, and popular was formed 
diredlly from popularis, and the adverb popularly was 
also formed diredlly from the Latin word popularites ; 
and these again gave birth to other vlomus, popularity, 
populace, populous, population, populousness. Another 
instance of this sort of transfer also took place in the 
various conjugates of ennemi, in French first, then into 
enemy, English ; but being without a corresponding 
adjedlive or adverb, these were transplanted at need 
from the Latin vocabulary ; inimical, inimically, and in- 
imicality are from the Latin word inimicus and were 
taken from it diredlly. Another of the most apparent 
examples of this creation of words can be found in the 
term parish. It is merely the French ii>* the form of 
paroisse assimilated to an English dress. But its adjec- 
tive, parochial, is incontestabl}^ the crude image of 
parochialis deprived of its terminal syllable ; the trunk 



LATIN DERIVATIVES. 23 1 

is there, but some of the twigs are left off. Its offspring 
does not, however, stop here ; for we have verbs like 
parochialize, nouns like parochiality , parochian, and an 
adverb, parochially, which are all Latin throughout. 
Here the substantives at first were derived from Nor- 
man-French, and conformed, perhaps gradually and 
imperceptibly, to the requirements of English grammar; 
by simply changing some of the letters and cutting off 
the case endings of the Latin declensions, thej^ have be- 
come thoroughly naturalized, and are admitted to un- 
questioned citizenship. And by now forming their 
adjectival and adverbial compounds, we have enriched 
our language with man^^ beautiful and significant words. 
Man}^ of these words, though much changed in form, 
can be easily traced back to their origin, and the process 
by which this is accomplished is not without historical 
interest. The word mob has been referred to by Mr. 
Trench as one of this chara(5ler. In the time of Charles 
II. the rabble were called mobile vulgus, a multitude 
swayed hither and thither by each gust of caprice, of 
passion or of do(5lrine, either true or false, the latter 
most frequently. The appellation mobile vulgus was 
abbreviated into a monosyllable, and hence, mob is not 
only a most expressive word in our day, but has a legal 
definition and great phonetic crispness. Similar in 
their history are those of the words sham, incog, and 
others, once avoided by the fastidious, but at last, like 
parvenu families, are provided with escutcheons, and 
keep compan}^ with the noblest w^ords in the language. 
I suspedl it was this readiness to adopt new words 
from the Latin which induced Ben Jonson, who was a 
contemporary of Shakespeare, to utter those sensible 



232 LATIN DERIVATIVES. 

refledlions to be referred to in a subsequent chapter, and 
the same tendency has called forth even at the present 
time severe censure from those who seek to preserve the 
language from modern corruptions. Dr. Angus in his 
hand-book points out twelve Latin words which enter 
into the composition of nearly 2,500 English words, and 
one hundred and fifty-four Greek and Latin primitives 
yield nearly 13,000 words, and the aggregate of Latin 
terms and compounds will amount to not less than 
twenty or thirty thousand. We must remember that 
the native richness of our tongue is not our sole reliance 
in the machinery of expression, but we seize upon every 
philological aid to thought more than any other people. 
The copious grammatical forms of the Latin, the shades 
of meaning they express, the nicety of distindlion they 
evince, are often called to our assistance when absolute 
corredlness and subtilty of thought are to be expressed, 
or a passage is to be distinguished by lofty and ener- 
getic eloquence. One of our American scholars (Mr. 
Lowell), maintains that our language has gained im- 
mensely, by the infusion of Latinisms, in the richness of 
synonyms, and in power of expressing nice shades of 
thought and feeling. Yet amidst the constant accre- 
tion of classical neologisms, the Saxon element of our 
language has lost nothing of its power. It is the basis 
of its strength, and none of its terms have been crowded 
into permanent desuetude by their classical associates. 
Previous to the year 1528 all the words of Latin 
origin betray in their form that they came through the 
old Norman- French. After that date the literature of 
Greece and Rome became diffused by means of the press, 
and manuscripts were no longer the narrow and preca- 



LATIN NEOLOGISMS. 233 

rious sources of learning for English students, who re- 
sorted dire(5lly to the originals for such classical terms 
as they needed. This resulted in a great influx from 
the remains of antiquity, which entered the language of 
the day without the intervention and in spite of the 
Norman -French ; and for two centuries authors bearing 
the greatest names in our literature were in the habit of 
using Latin derivatives, when, perhaps, the vernacular 
could have supplied counterparts equally distindl, forci- 
ble, and precise. Hooker, Sir Thomas Brown, Bacon 
and Milton, and others of a later date, especially Hume 
and Robertson, Johnson and Gibbon, are often blamed 
for the large proportion of terms that compose their 
works adopted from a classical source. But these 
authors probably resorted to Latin for what they deemed 
sufficient reasons, and first and foremost among them 
was what they considered an excellent one : that their 
own vernacular tongue was not fully fixed and uniform. 
But they all understood the dead languages, and were 
emulous to displaj^ the elegance of their Latinity. Re- 
member that Bacon and Milton wrote some of their chief 
works in that language entirely. The result shows 
how mistaken they were in the estimate of their own 
tongue, that has become the most copious and powerful 
idiom in Europe. It is not reallj^ surprising that in 
view of these circumstances so many Latin terms have 
crept into our vocabulary, and that these have never 
exercised any influence upon the form of grammar of 
our native tongue ; and that it holds today its domin- 
ion and use against all the pilgrims from other ages and 
other lands that have procured a passport to our dic- 
tionaries. 



CHAPTER X. 

MODERN ENGLISH-CONTINUED. 
SHAKESPEARE. 

1. His Education. 5. His Influence. 

2. His Tragedies and Comedies. 6. His Versification. 

3. His Sonnets. 7. His Present Position. 

4. His Language. 

We now come to a great man and probably the great- 
est name in English poetry — William Shakespeare. 
This singular genius was born in the small town of 
Stratford-upon-Avon (1564) . His parents were of hum- 
ble position, and were unable to educate their son in 
an3^ of the higher branches of learning. He received 
such training as the humble school in the village could 
afford, and no more conpsicuous example could be cited 
to show the force of native genius. When a young man 
he committed an offense against the game laws, for 
which he was tried before the now celebrated justice of 
the peace, Sir Thomas Lucy, upon whose lands the 
trespass had been committed, and the youthful culprit 
has immortalized his name and memory in a pasquinade 
that he stuck upon a tree in the immediate neighbor- 
hood where he lived. This so enraged Sir Thomas that 
he was about to pursue him with still greater terrors of 
the law, when Shakespeare, fearing his resentment, 



SHAKESPKARK. 235 

withdrew from the place and went up to London to push 
his fortune. Upon his arrival there he met an old friend 
who introduced him to the manager of the Globe Thea- 
tre, then the most famous resort for the fashion of the 
day. He there formed an acquaintance with Lord 
Southampton, a youth of about his own age, and it 
ripened into a friendship for life. This nobleman proved, 
indeed, to be a sincere friend on more than one occasion. 
When the Venetian ambassadors visited London it was 
he who introduced them to Shakespeare, and thus, no 
doubt, gave the poet many hints which he afterguards 
wove into his Italian plays. He was also through the 
same influence introduced at court, and played before 
the queen in several pieces, but whether they were his 
own is not known. He also appeared before the queen 
on several occasions when she passed in the ro3'al barge 
upon the river on her way to the Tower, but whether 
she observed or distinguished him by any mark of rec- 
ognition is not mentioned. It does not appear that he 
derived an}^ personal or pecuniary benefit from the royal 
bounty. Elizabeth was meanly penurious, and proba- 
bly Shakespeare received only the usual dole extended 
to others for the same kind of work. 

When the time came for Shakespeare to write a plaj^ 
we can almost in imagination see him retire to a small 
house he may have rented on the Strand, and where he 
occupied apartments which would now be considered 
mean and uncomfortable ; and here surrounded by noth- 
ing but a small collecftion of books, a few chairs, and a 
plain deal table, he prepared many of those magnificent 
pieces that have since delighted mankind. He seldom 
had occasion to corre(?t his composition, and the words 



236 SHAKKSPKARE. 

and figures came trooping like the birds on a beautiful 
spring morning, fresh from the vales of Helicon. He 
was a great reader of fairy tales, and construcfled some 
of his plays out of their gossamer ideals ; he also read 
the old histories of England in Holinshed and the stories 
of the crusades out of Froissart. He spoke no language 
but his own, and was often engaged in that most delight- 
ful study of arranging old English words one after the 
other in order to acquire a thorough knowledge of its 
resources. There is a tradition that he was also in the 
habit of sitting for hours at a time on the old chair that 
had been occupied by Chaucer when he composed his 
Canterbury Tales, and he was fond of saying that he 
enjoyed communion with that poet in the open light of 
day when he was weary of work and could not rest 
anywhere else. He had a great taste for the sonnets of 
Spenser, and would often try to imitate them, and did, 
indeed, produce quite a number of sonnets that prove 
him beyond all doubt a true poet, even if he had written 
nothing more. He was often found in the tavern, where 
he met men like Ben Jonson, with whom he w^as on in- 
timate terms of friendship, and discussed the topics of 
the day, not forgetting the stage in which they were all 
interested. Some time after he came to London he 
made the acquaintance of Ben Jonson, and they were 
always the best of friends ; and this would seem to es- 
tablish beyond all doubt that he wrote the dramas which 
bear his name, since old Ben bears witness to his author- 
ship, and declares that he was a man of the most genial 
temper and pleasing address. We are, therefore, at lib- 
erty to claim for Shakespeare that he wrote the plays, 
since so competent a witness testifies to the fadl. We 



SHAKESPEARE. 237 

are also much more impressed with the truth of this 
claim when we consider that Jonson was himself the 
greatest dramatist of the daj^ after Shakespeare, and 
was evidently not entirely free from a feeling of jealousy. 
When, therefore, it is thought fit by some to charge that 
Shakespeare was not the author of his own produ(5lions, 
it is necessary for them to show that Jonson was playing 
as great a farce himself, for he always spoke of Shakes- 
peare as the greatest living poet. 

It seems almost impossible to classify the works of 
Shakespeare. He is so various and universal that he 
covers all that we can think of, all that we can feel or 
know. There is such a breadth and copiousness in the 
overflowing fulness of his soul, that it is only necessary 
to speak of any subjedl and we find that he has ex- 
hausted it. There is no phase of human nature that he 
has not touched with his genius and embellished with 
his fancy. If we would ask any man for a thought of 
profound meaning, he has already made it familiar by 
an apt expression or a happy metaphor. If you wish to 
express the secret of love, read *' Romeo and Juliet "; if 
you would express the glor>^ of ambition, read the inter- 
view between Mark Antony and the crowd of citizens 
he harangues over the dead body of Caesar; if you 
would express the emotion of fear, read the tent scene 
in Richard III. when Banquo's ghost appears in his 
dreams ; if you would realize the dreadful frenzy of de- 
lirium, read *' King Lear," and if you would ponder on 
the ruin of a great mind under the influence of remorse, 
read the tragedy of "Macbeth." Indeed, there is no 
sympathy, no sentiment, no passion, no affedlion, that 
he has not vivified and placed in some striking episode, 



238 



SHAKESPEARE. 



displayed in some terrible outburst of feeling, or in some 
appalling and tremendous paroxysm . The love of woman 
was never more finely delineated than in the passage 
where Ophelia speaks to Hamlet of the remembrances 
she had received from him and of her desire to return 
them, to him. She expresses only the divinest confidence 
in her own soul and in her infinite love for the man who 
rejedls her ; and even when the heart-broken child is 

" Divided from herself, and her fair judgment," 

she speaks so simply and with such unaffedled feeling 
that one is persuaded the scene is real and the unhappy 
maiden a person of life and not a fidlion. So when the 
king is sent into exile, as is the case with Henry VI., 
we feel that the whole transadlion is like a passage from 
a book of genuine history. The monarch comes upon 
the stage without his crown or his royal robe, and 
speaks of the vicissitudes of life, and we feel that the 
king is there himself, and that the sentence which de- 
prives him of his throne is indeed a matter of reality. 
When Julius Caesar takes the trouble thrice to wave the 
proffered crown aside, we see the multitude and look upon 
the great Roman as if we were part of the people who 
pressed him to accept the emblem of royalt}'. V/hen 
the grim and ghastly shroud of King Edward is stopped 
on the wa}?- to the Tower, we can almost imagine that 
we are present and hear the loud summons of Gloucester 
to lay down the burden, and it shall be his care to pro- 
vide the proper obsequies, and when he seizes the 
shrinking hand of the queen, we can feel the shudder 
that passes through her veins. So it is in all the great 
scenes that fill these wonderful produ<5lions. We are 



SHAKESPEARE . 239 

conscious of a feeling that all is passing before us in the 
open light of truth, and we do not recover from the illu- 
sion till we are fairly out of sight and hearing of the 
performance. When the objedl of Shakespeare is to 
produce the strongest effe<5l upon the imagination, he 
generally sweeps down upon the scene with a surprising 
and extraordinary vision of grandeur, or despair, as when 
we see King Lear dethroned, uncrowned, and left deso- 
late among the rocks, his white hair streaming in the 
storm, and when the golden circle is placed upon the 
brow of Goneril, she is as suddenly brought to a misera- 
ble end by falling into the pit she had dug for her sister's 
ruin. The hope of a lifetime was realized only to be 
dashed into pieces almost as soon as it was reached. In 
all the tragedies there is a grandeur in the conception 
and a power of language in the expreSvSion that enchants 
the soul. What is grander than the reply of Marcellus 
to the rabble that assailed him with abuse, or the oration 
of Mark Antony over the dead Csesar. The great charm 
in all these and similar passages is the simplicity of the 
words, the beauty of the sentiment, and the wonderful 
pathos that can be produced by means so truthful and 
so unadorned. It is the perfection of language, and 
the most exalted sentiments of love, respecfl, and obedi- 
ence, combined with the grandest emotions and the 
noblest ideas. All the tender scenes are equally fine in 
their way. But, perhaps, the grandest of all these epi- 
sodes is that of Coriolanus when he exclaims, " O, 
mother, thou hast lost a son, but saved Rome." The 
feeling here is genuine, the language natural and plain, 
but the effec5l is overwhelming^ tender and affedling. 
The mother, a Roman matron of high birth and charac- 



240 SHAKESPEARE. 

ter, has volunteered to visit the tent of her son in order 
to save the city from the sword of the conqueror. Her 
own son leads the hostile forces that beleaguer the 
doomed city of Rome, and he is about to enter its por- 
tals with an arm}^ of barbarians. The moment is one 
of unexampled terror, the populace is aroused by the 
appalling danger, and the citizens grow pale at the 
dreadful extremity. There is no help at hand, no 
power that can come to their relief. But on a sud- 
den a woman appears before the senate, and asks per- 
mission to pass through the gates. She will go to 
the camp of the enemy, and seek audience with its vic- 
torious general. She will throw herself at his feet, and 
ask for peace. With a mother's voice and a mother's 
tears she will implore her son, her boy that she nour- 
ished and reared to manhood, to save the city of his birth 
and of her home from the sword of the destroyer. She 
feels that she cannot fail. She is sure that the gods 
will at least protedl her while on a mission so sacred. 
The senate yields to her entreaties, and the guard is 
ordered to give free passage. She issues from the for- 
tress nearest to the hostile camp, and alone passes into 
the arena of war to conquer a foe that is about to enter 
the eternal city and lay waste its treasures and its 
homes. She has no weapons but a mother's love and 
a mother's tears, but with these she subdues the heart 
of the great warrior, and brings back peace and safety 
to Rome. Coriolanus goes back to captivity and death. 
The Volcians cannot forgive what seems to them his 
perfidy, and the scene ends with his death and funeral. 
A more striking instance of the power of maternal love 
and influence is not to be found anywhere ; and this 



SHAKESPEARE. 24 1 

grand event is told so simply and so unaffecfledly that one 
is astonished at the grandeur of the conception as much 
as at the wonderful effedl produced by a few words that 
might have been uttered by any ordinary speaker of our 
language. 

This is a secret that Shakespeare possessed beyond 
an}^ other dramatic writer. He could produce the most 
unexpe(5led and brilliant effects by the most unforeseen 
expedients. When the queen asks Ha^nlet, for his 
father's sake, to leave off his mourning habit and assume 
a more pleasant humor, he only replies that he is sick of 
court pastimes and would prefer to be left out on all 
occasions of festivities. The queen sees at once the 
covert reproach upon her own conducft in so soon 
forgetting her duty to his father. So when the Ve- 
netian senator sees the marriage of his daughter to 
the Moor already consummated, he leaves the room 
where the court is sitting to try Othello for having 
charmed her with drugs or witchcraft, and abjures her 
as his child, and vows that he will never again trust 
woman's innocency. But the most striking instance of 
this kind is when Caesar conducfls the war against Mark 
Antony and the Egyptian queen. He is not insensible 
to her charms, and desires to make her the grand cen- 
tral figure of his triumphal entry into Rome. He sends 
her greeting, and instrudls his messengers to ask her 
what fair demands she means to have him grant her, but 
all their flatteries cannot captivate the great soul of the 
beautiful queen, who in a rage of frenzy places the deadty 
asp upon her heart and expires almost before their ej^es. 
The tragic details are all brought about by means the 
most natural and simple. It is a master mind working 
i6 



242 SHAKESPKARK. 

Up unusual means into the most appalling results. 

It is often said that Shakespeare did not invent his 
plots. This is true. He took his plots wherever he 
could find them, and like all the poets of his time never 
gave credit to the source from which he obtained them. 
In our day this would be called plagiarism, but in the 
days of Shakespeare it was a common prac5lice. He stole 
from the writers of Early English his story of King 
lycar, and the plot of the drama of Macbeth from Holin- 
shed. He took the whole narrative of Julius Caesar 
from a play on the same subjedl, written two or three 
years previously by William Alexander, afterwards Lord 
Sterling, and founded the tragedy of ' ' Titus Andronicus " 
upon the story of an old play written by a Greek author 
who lived in the days of Roman decay. There were, how- 
ever, no particular literary thefts committed, for the reason 
that he made the stories his own, inspired them with 
new life, and poured into them the vivid energy and fire 
of his genius, so that what was tame and mediocre in 
other men's hands became grand and immortal when 
touched with the promethean spark from his imagina- 
tion. 

It is a curious fa(5l, illustrative of certain points of 
similarity in the Elizabethan dramatists, that plagiarism, 
which in these days is regarded as a disgraceful theft, 
was then a common pradlice. Borrowing, transferring, 
and conveying may be traced in the works of all but 
Marlowe. He did not steal because there was no one 
to rob, but many obscure offenders stole from him. 
Then some worked together, hunted in couples ; Beau- 
mont, who understood French, Spanish, and Italian, 
worked with Fletcher, and after Beaumont's death 



SHAKKSPKARE. 243 

Fletcher worked with Shakespeare. Much of "Henry 
VIII.," ''Timon of Athens," '* Troilus and Cressida," 
and "Henry VI." has been traced to Fletcher, and 
some of " Richard III." to Peele. 

It is true that the greater part of this excellence was 
the producft of his own genius. The English stage was 
low enough in his day. I doubt if any essays upon 
tragedy or comedy had appeared, or if charadler and 
dialogue were understood. It was a transition period 
from the moralities and interludes to regular tragedy. 
George Gascoigne, one of the writers contemporary with 
the reign of Mary Tudor, had translated several of the 
ancient tragedies, particularly three or four of Euripides 
and one or two of ^schylus. Possibly Shakespeare 
derived some know^ledge of characfler and dialogue 
from these examples. But that was not the form 
of either character or dialogue which imitated con- 
versation and gave the air of common discourse. The 
ancient dialogue was too didacftic for his use. It 
was more like, for instance, the dialogue of "Home 
Tooke," in the diversions of Purley, or Fontenelle, on 
the plurality of worlds. This form of dialogue is not 
very well calculated to enliven a subjedl by brilliant 
sallies and sparkling repartee. The dialogue of the 
drama is written conversation, keeping up a run- 
ning connection between plot and character, taking 
color from the scene like chit-chat, and manifest- 
ing emotions and sentiments that seem to effervesce 
spontaneously from the mind. The stage is peopled 
with the most incongruous beings, and it is imperative 
that each should speak in his own characSleristic style. 
Kings and nobles, clowns and knaves, soldiers and citi- 



244 SHAK^SPItARE. 

zens compose the scene; they converse and must be 
uniform and consistent throughout the entire piece, 
each being distinguished by his own tone and sentiment. 
The arrangement of the Greek drama could furnish 
still less instrucftion on the subjedl of charac5ler. The 
personages were generally taken from their mythology, 
and the incidents related to events in their fabulous 
antiquity. On the other hand, Shakespeare drew his 
charadlers from true history, or else they were the fidli- 
tious offspring of his own exuberant fancy. He created 
characflers for the representation of human life. He 
was, therefore, under the necessity of making them con- 
sistent, although he colored them with the iridescent 
hues of fidlion, and introduced them into an imaginary 
existence, full of grand and thrilling episodes. I am 
not aware that there were at that period any means of 
instrudling these efforts of the imagination. Marlowe, 
who was a little before Shakespeare, approached this 
art and prepared the way ; and, going still further back, 
we find the first English tragedy ever exhibited was at 
the court of Elizabeth, in the year 1561, just three 
years before Shakespeare's birth. It took its name from 
one of the principal characflers, Gorboduc, who gave to 
each of his two sons one half of his kingdom. They 
become enemies. The youngest kills the oldest, the 
mother stabs the survivor, and the infuriated populace 
rush into the palace and massacre the king, Gorboduc, 
and his implacable wife, and the whole family disap- 
pears in blood. The queen was pleased. The Tudors 
liked blood even as the lion laps that of its prey. The 
effedl of the play, we are told, was prodigious, and the 
excitement it evolved swept like a tidal wave over the 



SHAKESPEARE. 245 

land. Marlowe, with a rich and potent inspiration, was 
the first to appear ; he was accompanied with a con- 
course of lesser lights, and these again were followed by 
Beaumont, Fletcher, Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and 
their contemporaries, Euripides was again translated 
into English, and the tragedies of Seneca were traves- 
tied in such a way that classical scholars failed to 
recognize them in their new dress. 

That Shakespeare traveled in Italy is doubtful, but 
that he understood Italian and the conversation of Ital- 
ians is certain. He transferred much from the Italian 
poets to his own store. The exquisite speech on repu- 
tation in ' ' Othello, ' ' also, ' ' Who steals my purse, " etc. , is 
said to be nearly literally from the ' ' Orlando Inamorate. ' ' 
Othello's reference to the handkerchief which an " Egyp- 
tian did to my mother give, ' ' is from the ' ' Orlando Furi- 
oso. ' ' The beautiful soliloquy on suicide and immortalit}^ 
" To be or not to be," is stated in Langhorn's Preface 
to his ' ' Plutarch ' ' to have been taken verbatim from a 
Latin author, or possibly a translation from Plato. 
Froissart's and Holinshed's Chronicles were Shakes- 
peare's chosen authorities for much of Henry V., VI., 
and even Richard II. and Macbeth. The Bible 
helped him essentially, especially the Proverbs of Solo- 
mon, Ecclesiastes, the Pentateuch, and the New Testa- 
ment. He borrowed from Marlow^e, and took King 
Lear from La5"amon's Brut. The ballads and w^orks of 
the lesser dramatists supplied him with material for 
characters like Pistol, Silence, and the clowns. Belief in 
ghosts, fairies, and watches abounded in Shakespeare's 
time, and of them, and the stories about them, he made 
great use in Macbeth, Hamlet, Mid-Summer Night's 



246 SHAKKSPKARE. 

Dream, Henry VI., and in The Tempest. But after all 
said and done about Shakespeare's debts to other writers, 
the fadl so ably set forth by an accomplished American 
philologist, is undeniable — who saj^s : "As soon expe<5l 
to see a child without a father as an artist without 
an intelledlual progenitor. He may not, indeed, have 
been the artist's master, as the child's nominal father 
may not have been his real one ; but from some 
other mind comes the germ which he afterwards 
develops into originality. Shakespeare was no excep- 
tion to the rule. He, sooner than any other creator 
in whatever department of art, broke away from the 
past and was himself alone ; but he at first cast his 
thought in other men's moulds, and even his originality 
was rather in matter and in style than in substance." 

He traces infancy and age how well ! Recall young 
Arthur before Hubert, and the sons of Edward in the 
Tower. Whether in the sunshine of Verona or the 
mists of Klsinore, whether he portraj^s a wizard or a 
king, his adlion is simple, rapid, and engrossing. His 
dramatic heroes are real personages ; whether he has 
created them, or resuscitated them, it is the same thing. 
He may choose Macbeth, or Othello, but he re-creates 
him. He breathes his soul into the man, he sweeps 
him along by the current of events, he groups around 
him circumstance and influence, he opposes him to suf- 
ferings and spells, he throws him into the midst of emer- 
gencies favorable or otherwise. The man conquers or 
is conquered, but it is always upon him that the interest 
centres. It is he who fills the scene, it is he whom we 
watch, whom we grieve for, whom we applaud or condemn, 
and it is he who provokes our scorn or our admiration . We 



SHAKESPEARE. 24/ 

never lose sight of him, while the mere details of the story- 
are only essential as accessories. He gives dramatic 
effed; to some truth|in philosophy in an unstudied meta- 
phor. The well-known passage which occurs in the 
fifth adl of Macbeth when the news is brought that the 
queen is dead, "Out! out! brief candle ! Life's but a 
walking shadow!" The verb here is transitive, and 
conveys the idea of extinguishing the flame of life as if 
it were the glimmering of a fungus wick expiring in an 
old, battered socket. Another instance of the same 
kind occurs in Hafnlefs first soliloquy in speaking of 
the world, " 'Tis an unweeded garden that grows to 
seed ; things rank and gross in nature possess it merely. ' ' 
Shakespeare's knowledge of the female sex in all that 
relates to their physique as well as to their feelings and 
intelledlual power, is exemplified in his reference to 
what women endure in childbirth, in the course of more 
than one of his tragedies, in a fine vein of tenderness 
and delicacy. His just appreciation of the most refined 
courtly usage is conspicuous in the queen's acknowledg- 
ment to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in Hamlet. The 
king thanks them individually for their visit, thus : 
" Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guildenstern," 

and the queen adopts the opposite form of address, to 
guard against the appearance of slight or partiality, 
saying : 

"Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosencrantz," 

Indeed, no one has so well described woman and 
revealed her to herself as Shakespeare. Think of 
Ophelia, Juliet, Desdemona, and Cordelia, and many other 
types of love, jealousy, virtue, and pity, in whom are 



248 



SHAKESPKARE. 



revealed the life, the soul, the tenderness, and beauty 
of woman. He knows all, he animates all, and pours 
out the riches of his nature on the beautiful heroines 
of his imagination. 

It has been obje<5led by certain hypercritics that 
Shakespeare offended against the modesty of woman 
by making her appear in male attire. This objedlion 
defeats itself. In his day there were no women on the 
stage — all the female parts were, as in the days of 
Roscius, played by boys, and Shakespeare, therefore, 
seized every excuse for putting some beautiful, promi- 
nent charadler in the kind of dress boys could most 
suitably wear. It is not the fault of Shakespeare that 
modern adlresses choose to dress themselves in such a 
manner as to expose their limbs to critical inspec- 
tions. Rosalind, Imogen, Viola, Portia, Jessica, Juliet, 
and Joan oj Arc all don male attire for purposes of 
disguise and travel, which involved no exposure what- 
ever, for five of them would adlually wear rough clothes 
and high boots to get through forests and other troubles, 
and to lie on the turf at night ; two of them would be 
enveloped in lawyers' gowns, and one in complete 
armor. These beautiful sketches of women testify to 
his chivalrous respe<5l for them, and his intense admira- 
tion and love for their characfter. 

The most beautiful passages in Shakespeare are 
those where he speaks of love. It is here that his great 
soul seems to revel in delight. ^h.^r\ Juliet tells Romeo 
that she is all the time in fear lest something should 
happen to him, and when he replies that nothing but 
good can happen to one she loves, the secret power of 
passion is revealed, and the confidence of hope and 



SHAKESPEARE. 249 

youth are displayed in a manner that touches the soul 
with the glorious transports of a divine sentiment. 
W\i&n Jessica speaks with Lorenzo on the subjedl of their 
devotion, she saj^s that all the birds sing of love, and all 
the stars glow with its splendor. When the gentle 
Desdemona asks the Moor to tell of his life's story, she 
exclaims, "Would that Heaven had made me such a 
man ! If you have any friend can tell his love as 
you have told your story, I wish he were my brother." 
When Juliet speaks of love, it is as if the world were 
made of it, and would expire if left without it, and when 
Romeo falls down upon the ground to kiss her hand, it 
is as if that hand was like the hallowed shrine of a great 
Nature uttering its prayer of praise and blessfulness. 

It is not possible to give a more vivid pi(5lure of a 
w^oman who possesses the charm of beauty and the glory 
of love than in the closet scene of Cleopatra and her 
attendants. Here we have all the tints and shades of a 
deep and passionate nature. There is no room for any 
feeling but love, no thought of an5^thing but the objec5l 
beloved. When the moment comes for rest, there is no 
rest; when to sleep, there is no sleep. The whole being 
is taken up with one thought, and animated and trans- 
ported by an all-consuming passion. 

O Charmian, 
Where think 'st thou he is now ? 

Stands he, or sits he? 
Or does he walk ? or is he on his horse ? 
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
Do bravely, horse ! for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st? 
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm 
And burgonet of men. — He's speaking now, 
Or murmuring, " Where's my serpent of old Nile?" 
For so he calls me. 



250 SHAKESPEARK. 

All these passages show how deeply the heart of the 
poet was touched when stirred up by the strongest sym- 
pathies of our nature. 

But the most enchanting of Shakespeare's poems are 
the sonnets, that are so seldom referred to, and that 
are so exquisite in their melody and versification. 
There is no room here for uncertainty as to their author- 
ship. No one has ever denied that Shakespeare wrote 
them. The}"- are the effusions of a noble nature, and 
glow with the fire of a resplendent genius. No one 
can say that the sonnets are taken from other sources, 
and all must admit they are both original and poetic. 
When a man brings such a charge against the tragedies 
and comedies as that they are the work of another's 
brain, they will not dare to affirm that the sonnets are 
stolen from any source whatever. If, therefore, the}^ 
are genuine, there are the strongest reasons for believ- 
ing that the charge is not sustained when brought 
against the former. We, therefore, conclude that all 
the works bearing Shakespeare's name were written 
by him, except those plays that have been erroneously 
attributed to him. 

We now come to consider his language and what 
position he occupies in the philology of our tongue. 
One of his greatest admirers has said of him that he 
uses English with the same degree of freedom that a 
man uses his own language when not expected to speak 
for himself, but for some one else. That is to say, he 
spoke it as if it did not belong to him and he could, 
therefore, use it with greater carelessness than he would 
if it were his own. This is apparent only, but I think 
that he probably used it with greater care than any 



SHAKESPEARE. 25 1 

writer of his age, Bacon alone excepted, and perhaps 
Jonson. The language of Shakespeare is a matter of 
great concern, as he is the greatest among those who are 
supposed to have been the first to use its modem forms. 
Since the days of Chaucer there had been but few 
writers who had used the language in any form of 
dialect that approached the st3de of that author, or 
even added a single grace to its diction. Few had 
written it in prose, and but few in verse, and no one 
had spoken it, as far as we know, who had improved its 
forms, corrected its grammar, or displa3^ed its versa- 
tility for the expression of thought or feeling. The 
great dramatists who were the contemporaries of Shakes- 
peare had indeed written it in a way to show its power 
in portraying passion and in giving a new and potent 
charm to the stage. The prose writers of the same 
period had also displayed its energy and fine distinction 
in the description of character and the narration of 
events, but none of them had shown the wonderful 
capacity of our tongue for the most sublime expression 
of the emotions that spring up in the soul from great 
events, or when it is stirred by deep and profound sen- 
timents. The whole literature of the period was 
marked bj^ a spirit of levit}- and a looseness of morality 
that can be accounted for only b}" the debasement of the 
age. All the domestic virtues were, matters for jest, if 
not absolute derision, and the easy and abandoned life 
of the men who wrote was a reflection of contemporary 
manners. It was not until Shakespeare arose out of 
the filth and slime of the period that letters came 
to their inheritance of pure and lofty expression, and 
our language put on its beautiful robes, and spoke 



252 SHAKESPEARE. 

of love, ambition, virtue, religion, and domestic life 
in such terms as were suitable to the elevation of 
the manners and the character of mankind. When we 
remember that Shakespeare was of humble origin, that 
his early education was about on a level with thousands 
and tens of thousands of other Englishmen, we are 
astonished at the richness of his vocabulary, the splen- 
dor of his diction, and the grandeur of his periods. He 
speaks and you behold the noblest words marching 
on the scene as if they were out in their best array, and 
each one comes on so gracefully that you are led 
to believe the speech is the natural and spontaneous 
outburst of a mind ladened with the burden of its 
thoughts, and overflowing with matchless terms to 
express them. All the resources of language appear 
to be exhausted in the grand characters he delineates. 
Take, for instance, his description of Macbeth when 
he meets the witches at their midnight orgies, and 
see how he weaves together the thought and the 
word, and how palpable he makes the weird and 
sombre cave, the sparkling fire and the boiling caldron 
hissing on the tripod as the dismal hags circle around, 
singing their hellish incantations over the murky air. 
The scene derives much of its power over the imag- 
ination by the vivid imagery of the language. And so in 
the place where Romeo speaks of his love as a thing too 
sacred for utterance, even to the stars as he stands 
under their dim and shadowy light. Indeed, wherever 
Shakespeare portra3^s a character or relates an event, the 
language adds the distinctness of reality to the most 
unsubstantial events ; thus, where Ophelia learns that 
her father is dead and that his death takes from her the 



SHAKESPEARE. 253 

only support on earth, how beautiful and yet simple the 
language b}^ which he evokes the tenderest feelings 
of sympathy for the poor desolate orphan. No one can 
read the death scene in Richard III. without feel- 
ing that language could scarcely be used to produce 
a more ghastly effect, and when Ki7ig Lear exclaims 
against the ingratitude of his daughters, we have the 
grandest explosion of passionate regret that language is 
capable of expressing. These examples will serve to 
illustrate the use which Shakespeare could make of 
a few Saxon words to produce the most marvelous 
results. The following passage selected from Part 
I., Henry IV., Act III., Scene II., is marked by the 
number of Saxon words, and nearly all of one syllable. 
It passes between the king and his son (Falstaff's 
Prince Hal). The king has reproached the prince 
for his disorderly behavior, and contrasted him with 
Hotspur, the son of Percy, who has alread}^ acquired 
* ' never dying honor ' ' : 

P. Hen. Do not think so; yon shall not find it so; 

And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 

I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
And in the closing of some glorious day, 

Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood, 

And stain my favors in a bloody mask, 
Which wash'd away shall scour mj^ shame veith it. 

And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
That this same child of honor and renown. 

This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. 
And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. 

For every honor sitting on his helm, 
Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 



254 SHAKESPEARE. 

My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
That I shall make this northern youth exchange 

His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord, 

To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf ; 
And I will call him to so strict account, 

That he shall render every glory up, 
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 

Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
This, in the name of God, I promise here ; 

The which if he be pleas 'd I shall perform ; 
I do beseech, your majesty may salve 

The long-grown wounds of my intemperance ; 
If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

It is not improbable that the secret of this power 
lay in the fact that Shakespeare had. always devoted 
much of his time to the selection of words and writ- 
ing them down for future use. There is a hint to 
this effect in some of the biographical sketches. For 
instance, in Ben Jonson's praises of Shakespeare it is 
stated that he had a habit of noting down any 
unusual occurrence or remarkable event and preserv- 
ing it for reference or use in his works, so it may 
have been his practice to write down such words as 
might strike his fancy for the same purpose ; at all 
events, that he made use of English as no one before 
him had done is one of the chief characteristics of 
his style. When he seeks to strike the imagination 
with some bold flight, or some lovely and gracious met- 
aphor, how grandly his words correspond with the idea, 
as where Meraitio speaks of his wound, that it is not as 
deep as a well nor as wide as a barn door, but it will do, 



SHAKESPEARE . 255 

there is a commonplace air about the terms, but how 
they at once carry the mind to the deadly nature 
of the injury, and at the same time reveal the joyous 
nature and cheerful temper of the soul that is about 
to take its flight above. So when he would touch 
the heart with an incident in common life, he uses 
no effort to sound the loud trumpet and call upon 
the feelings for an emotional display, but he tells it as a 
plain person would tell it. 

Whenever Shakespeare's object is to produce an 
effect upon the mind by a sudden turn of expression, he 
does it by introducing some phrase that ever>' one 
can understand, as when the gentle Desdemona 
is pleading for Cassio with the Moor he asks for 
the handkerchief that "An Egyptian to my mother 
gave," and thrice repeats the question with sudden and 
startling emphasis. Or when he wishes to astonish 
and captivate us by a single figure of speech, he makes 
the wretched Moor speak of his ruined hopes in 
three words, "Othello's occupation's gone." There 
is probably no grander passage in our language than 
that in which Mark Antony laments the death of 
CcBsar, unless it be that in which Othello addresses 
the council chamber in Venice. There is everywhere 
scattered through his works pieces of exquisite poetry, 
as in the play of "As You Like It," and many 
of the pieces are so inten^^oven with the plot that 
thej^ cannot well be extra(5led from it. The great 
mastery of our language is perhaps better displayed 
in Hamlet than in any other of his produdlions. 
The soliloquy on suicide and the advice of Polo7iius 
to his son, may be referred to as showing a fitness of 



256 



SHAKESPEARE, 



terms and a purity of speech that reaches to the 
highest excellence, and ma}^ be compared with any- 
thing of the same kind in ancient or modern litera- 
ture. 

The influence of Shakespeare upon the language 
has not been overestimated. The direct way to over- 
come the difficulties of his early education was evi- 
dent from the first drama he produced to the last. 
There were no sudden and extraordinary breaks 
in the series. All are distinguished by marks of 
his genius, but in no respect are they more so 
than in the Shakespearean st3de of his language. In 
this they stand alone. It is so peculiar that it has 
never been successfully imitated; and 3'et it is the 
simplest and plainest English. The most exquisite 
gems of his poetry are set in the sweet words of his 
mother tongue. We first remark upon the facffc that 
the language is nearly pure Saxon — the greater por- 
tions of his words come from that source. He has, 
therefore, perhaps more than any other writer of his 
age, or of any succeeding age, given the language a 
Saxon type and energy. His love for old English is 
also remarkable. In many of his finest passages he 
uses almost exclusively Saxon terms, and appears to 
sele(5l them from a desire to be clear and strong, to 
be diredl and expressive. The most beautiful passages 
in his poetry derive their peculiar charm from their 
Saxon simplicity. The effedl has been very marked 
upon the subsequent texture of our speech. There 
has been no writer since his time who has not 
to some extent been influenced by this example ; and 
even those who have most affecfted foreign idioms 



SHAKESPEARK. 257 

and classical refinements have not failed to feel and 
express their admiration for the noble Saxon- English 
of Shakespeare. The greatest poet of the present 
day has not failed to clothe his finest conceptions in a 
Saxon dress, and his **In Memoriam," which is perhaps 
his most exquisite produ(?tion, is expressed in Saxon 
monosyllables. The influence of a great writer upon 
his native tongue is felt long afterwards, and he con- 
tinues to exert it upon others who succeed and 
stamp it still more firmly as the language of intelli- 
gence and literature. The most remarkable instance 
of this is Shakespeare himself. He has never ceased 
to influence our tongue. The school-boy continues 
to recite his pieces, the greatest tragedians to per- 
form his plays, the lawyer cites his proverbial maxims, 
and the preacher illustrates his theme by a citation 
from his morals and philosophy. There is no calling 
that he has not written for, no profession that he has 
not pradliced, and no employment that he has not 
dignified by his wise and prudent counsel. All 
classes of men find something in Shakespeare that 
explains or applies to their position, and ever^^ one feels 
honored by finding himself already sketched and 
identified among the w^onderful creations of his genius. 
This universal spirit of Shakespeare carries his language 
into all the thoughts and converse of men. I^itera- 
ture, poetry, and philosophy feel the general influence 
and yield to its power. In this way it would be 
almost impossible to overestimate the influence of 
Shakespeare upon the English language. 

Besides all this there are a great number of those who 
do not read his works who are under their influence, 
17 



258 SHAKKSPKARK. 

and cannot escape the use of the language which he 
has done so much to establish in its present form. 
All who speak English may be unconscious of the influ- 
ence that comes from his writings, but they would not 
speak as they now speak in all probability had he 
never lived, and they cannot tell how they would speak 
the language of their birth had he never written in it. 
It seldom falls to the lot of a man to mould the language 
of a people, or to give them a dialect for all the purposes 
of speech, and yet it is probably more from the 
influence of Chaucer and Shakespeare that our tongue is 
what it is, than from any other causes, and their 
influence will extend with it in its circuit round the 
globe. When a man wants an apt quotation or 
an unusually pointed remark, he will find it in 
Shakespeare all ready made, and so much better than 
he could do it himself that he adopts it at once. So if 
one wishes to follow out any line of thought, he 
looks into Shakespeare and will be sure to find him- 
self rewarded by the most graceful and expressive 
mode in which it can be presented. All the maxims 
of men, all the theories of philosophy, all the questions 
of morals, all the motives of friendship, the duties of 
religion, and the obligations of virtue can be found in 
these works, scattered here and there in many forms, 
but always in good plain English speech, such as 
any one can understand and feel. 

His influence upon our literature has been con- 
stantly felt. The great bulk of English literature 
belongs to the last two centuries. Previous to that 
time writers were poorly paid and poorly treated. 
The most of them were not recognized outside the 



SHAKBSPKARK. 259 

church, and the literature of the monks was mostly 
on religious topics, so that of secular literature there 
was little or none. About the time of Shakespeare a 
new era commenced. A number of writers appeared 
and wrote in English, after the manner of Chaucer, 
whom they all admired and imitated in using the 
vernacular. Their works are now seldom referred to, 
but for all that they constitute a bright galaxy in 
the history of English literature. Some of them 
were contemporary with Shakespeare, some just before, 
and some just after, as has already appeared. The 
ordinary reader scarcely ever hears of Marlowe, Mas- 
singer, Middleton, Rowley, Ivyly, Nash, Lily (William), 
Green, and several others, who lived and wrote plays, 
and novels, and poetry ; to say nothing of Ben Jonson, 
who was a personal friend, and Beaumont and Fletcher, 
who were co-workers with the poet himself. This extra- 
ordinary race of men appeared all at once, and disappeared 
at about the same time as Shakespeare, or soon 
afterwards. They were in some respects the rivals of 
Shakespeare, and one or two of them his enemies, 
who ridiculed his attempts at writing tragedies, and 
spoke of him as a pretender. It cannot be said that 
Shakespeare had any immediate influence upon his con- 
temporaries, nor indeed could he have had, for only two 
or three of his pieces were published in his life-time, and 
it was not until seven years after his death that the first 
edition of his entire works appeared in print. From 
that time on his influence has been acknowledged 
by all the authors that have used the English tongue. 
In no case has the name and fame of Shakespeare suf- 
fered an eclipse, until three hundred and fifty years after 



26o SHAKESPEARE. 

his death a claim is set up that he did not write the 
plays that bear his name. Even with this suspicion 
resting upon them, these wonderful productions exert 
as much influence as ever upon our language and liter- 
ature. The Shakespearean dialecft has not been pre- 
served in the writings of later authors, simply for 
the reason that it is inimitable. No writer has been 
bold enough to try it more than once, for a single 
experiment has been sufficient to show its impossibility. 
And yet no man of letters will deny that the effe(5l 
of that astonishing dialecfl has never ceased to be felt in 
all the ages since its appearance ; indeed, our literature 
is studded with Shakespearean gems. We cannot 
open a book on any subjecft of general interest 
that we will not find it adorned by his wise max- 
ims and beautiful thoughts. We cannot go into a 
drawing room, a public building, a library, or a societ}^ 
for the promotion of human learning or well-being and 
not see his bust. Wherever we go, whatever we read, 
Shakespeare is the unfailing friend to welcome and 
cheer us. He stands at the door of the theatre, at the 
salon of the refined, in the gallery of art, in the work- 
shop, in the factory, in the cottage, and in the palace, 
the ever present embodiment of genius, kindness, 
courtesy, and good-fellowship. His features are as 
familiar to us as are those of our nearest and best 
friends, and when we see any one who resembles him 
we feel a glow of pleasure and only wish that the poet 
were indeed again alive. 

A general muster of all the words in the tragedies, 
comedies, and sonnets has been made by Mrs. Cowden 
Clark, who computes them by adlual count at 15,000, 



SHAKESPEARE. 26l 

In this aggregate there are probably many repetitions, 
so that the real number may safely be reduced to 8,000 
or 9,000. Down to the present time from 1,500 to 2,000 
of these words have become obsolete or are obsolescent, 
and many have acquired a changed meaning, but this 
includes all those he established as well as those tenta- 
tive words he devised, and which it appears the wants 
of the language never demanded as they have never 
taken root in it. Dr. Weisse has analj^zed a passage 
from Hamlet containing 164 words, out of which 
forty-seven per cent, are particles and thirty-nine per 
cent, repetitions. In one hundred words of the same 
extract nine per cent, are Greek and I^atin derivatives, 
twenty-three from the French, fift3''-nine from the Anglo- 
Saxon or Gothic, and a trace from several other sources. 
Shakespeare was about 200 years later than Chaucer, 
and he uses nearlj^ the same proportion of words of 
a French and I^atin parentage. 

So many of his words have become obsolete that 
their interest and history would exhaust a treatise ; 
but wath a large number of the changed meanings w^e 
have become acquainted as a matter of convenience 
if not necessity. For instance, churl ^ knave and vil- 
lain, in his day, conve3^ed no opprobrious sense. 
Ivipertijient merely meant irrelevant, which is still its 
legal signification, and implied neither rudeness nor 
intrusion. Indifferent meant impartial) extravagant 
was simply digressive or vagra7it ; extra was wander- 
ing beyond \ prevent w^as properly to p^^ecede and 
assist, and menial might denote a gentleman and even a 
member of Parliament. Address was used in the sense 
of being ready to perform an act ; favor was applied 



262 



shake:spkark. 



to express outward appearance, and to break with one 
was simply to speak with another about a matter of 
interest. Thus in "Much Ado About Nothing" the 
Prince Don Pedro says to his favorite Don Claudio ' ' If 
thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, and I will break 
with her"; that is, I will open the matter to her. 
The same word is also used with its modern signifi- 
cation. Slender S2iys, to Ford, "We have appointed to 
dine with Mrs. Anne and I would not break with her 
for more money than I'll speak of." He means he 
would not break his engagement with her.* 

Some of his constru(5lions are now bad syntax, as 
when he uses then for than. Mr. Craik is of opinion 
that this was a part of the regular phraseology and gram- 
mar of Shakespeare's time, and he adds that there were 
different forms of the same word often employed inter- 
changeably by the old writers. Occasionally we observe 
the introdudlion of a plural nominative as the subjedl of 
a verb in the singular number, especially when it is 
required by the rhyme. When Macbeth in his soliloquy 
before going in to murder the sleeping king says — 

'* Whiles I threat he lives, 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. ' ' 

The reverse of this is one of his varieties of expres- 
sion, and the most illiterate murderer of the king's 
English could not do worse than Brutus when he 
entreats his countrymen not to depart — 

"Save I alone, till Antony have spoke.^' 

In this form, however, we are presented with the 
extraordinary force and grace in which the past tense is 

*Craik's English of Shakespeare, 221. 



SHAKKSPKARE. ^6^ 

made to express a present or future adlion. This is 
supposed to be one of the excellencies of the classical 
language alone, which the author just mentioned thinks 
has perished out of our English tongue. Till Antony 
has spoken, or //// Antony shall have spoken, is still good 
English, and similarities are found to pervade our litera- 
ture and daily speech ; indeed, few elaborate pieces are 
construdled without this expedient. Besides, the sub- 
jundlive mood imports contingency, and is generally 
preceded by the conjuncflions if, that, and others. The 
time implied in its tenses is indefinite and dependent ; 
it is used to express a condition or contingency in regard 
to which some future occurrence is predicated. In the 
phrase till Antony have spoke, it enlarges the preterit so as 
to take in the future, when Antony shall speak ; and this 
construdlion is among the recognized usages of our 
language and its grammar. 

And, again, Shakespeare sometimes uses the infini- 
tive mood without the preposition to before the verb. 
Mr. Craik selects the following example : You ought 
not walk. The introdudlion of this particle to as the 
sign of the infinitive has obtained a fixed place in our 
current idiom, except in certain phrases where it would 
be not only useless but inelegant and improper. For 
instance, it is omitted after the verbs bid, dare, feel, hear, 
let, see, make, need, and their participles. Let me go, not 
let me to go ; let me learn, not let me to learn. 

Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, 

Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep. 

The use of to in the infinitive is traced back to the 
earliest fragments of our literature, and ever since the i6th 



264 SHAKBSPKARB. 

century has been generally adopted as the sign of the Eng- 
lish infinitive placed before the simple verb. Its omission 
in the construdlions last referred to is sandlioned as 
an idiomatic charadleristic of our language. Vou ought 
not walk is under the general rule not proper because the 
verb walk is not preceded by the preposition /<?, which 
should be inserted, thus, You ought not to walk. Not 
infrequently he uses the neuter relative which instead of 
the personal pronoun : 

Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, 
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy? 

But this sketch of Shakespeare cannot properly be 
brought to a conclusion until we have noticed his 
services in aid of English versification. If he did not 
originate a new feature in our language by giving it the 
sparkling fertility of blank verse, he certainly distin- 
guished it more clearly from rhyme by bringing it 
nearer to common use and much more fit for adlion and 
dialogue. Marlowe, if not the first to use blank verse, 
was probably the first to observe the order of poetic num- 
bers or metrical feet in its construdlion, and the writers 
on prosody assure us that this order is essential to the com- 
position of poetry, and that without its aid blank verse 
would fall at once into prose. It is apparent that 
Shakespeare followed the example of Marlowe, for he 
used the same number of feet in each line, called, to 
distinguish it from other measures, the iambic of five 
feet or pentameter verse. As a most unique specimen 

With regard to the double adverb, the " most unkiudest," we are informed 
by Mr. J. H. Siddons that linguistic redundancies of this kind were in common 
use in the Elizabethan era, and for some time before and since more better, 
most boldest, were superlatives of the common tautology. 



SHAKKSPKARK. 265 

of this measure, the speech of Mark Antony over the 
dead body of Brutus is familiar to us all : 

This was the noblest Roman of them all. 

All the conspirators, save only he. 

Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 

He only, in a generous, honest thought 

Of common good to all, made one of them. 

His life was gentle ; and the elements 

So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up 

And say to all the world : ' ' This was a man ! ' ' 

In English poetry a line or verse consists of a certain 
number of feet having generally long and short syllables. 
The pentameter line is the measure used by Shakespeare, 
and he carried it to such a degree of excellence that the 
greatest poems in our language have ever since been 
composed in the same measure, and among which we 
may seledl ' * Paradise lyost, ' ' and the ' ' Idylls of the 
King." 

Here it may be proper briefly to notice the principal 
metres used in English versification. These are the 
iambic, composed of a short and a long syllable ; the 
trochee, composed of a long and a short one ; the 
anapest, of three syllables, two short and a long one ; 
and the dactyl, of one long and two short syllables. It 
may be doubted whether Shakespeare used au}^ but the 
first two, unless he occasionally placed a spondee, of two 
long syllables , at the end of a line in order to form a rhyming 
couplet, which w^e find here and there in all the dramas. 
The pentameter verse or line admits of five feet, in which 
any of these three can be employed without breaking 
the measure or interfering with the m^elody. Each line, 
according to the rules in prosody, is called a verse, and 



266 



SHAKKSPBARE. 



the feet are called numbers. Hemistiches or half -verses, 
as well as rhyming couplets, frequently occur, and the 
lines run into each other when the sense requires it, 
especially in blank verse. Mr. Hood reckons that there 
are nine and twenty of these measures in Greek and 
lyatin verse. It is also said that Horace alone used 
about nineteen ; but the most commonly used in Eng- 
lish are the iambic and trochee. The duration of time 
in which a syllable is pronounced is called its quantity, 
and the long one is double the length of the short one. 
When a syllable is sounded in a higher tone than the 
others it is called accent, and is placed only on the long 
syllables, and is also used to distinguish the important 
words from the low ones. There may be one accent in 
a line or as many as five. Suitable pauses are also to 
be observed, which usually coincide with the sense. 
There may be several pauses in the same line, according 
to the sense. They should, however, never divide a 
word nor be placed between two words intimately con- 
necfted. Their proper place in the line is generally 
discovered by the ear. The alternate use of long and 
short syllables and the proper regulation of the accent 
and pauses constitute the foundation of melody in these 
splendid iambics. They offer the advantages of inver- 
sion, of flexible measures, and of vivid expression, that 
we admire so much in the superb idioms of antiquity. 
To an ear like Shakespeare's, capable of distinguishing 
the full variety of these graces, and calculating the end- 
less diversity which they throw into verses without 
rhyme and of the same measure, he was naturally led 
into their use, and by a proper employment of their har- 
mony produced the beauty and excellence of his poetry. 



SHAKKSPKARi:. 267 

Blank verse is, moreover, adapted to grave subjects, and 
to the expression of noble sentiment and sublime lan- 
guage. The grave subjecfts of history, the adlion of 
heroes, and the fate of dynasties are suited to this mode 
of speech, and so far from missing rhyme in subje(5ls 
of this description, we are offended to find it there. 
On this point I cite from an acute thinker and a pro- 
found scholar, who says : 

" In blank verse are united, in a good measure, the several 
properties of I^atin hexameter and Enghsh rhyme ; and it possesses 
besides many signal properties Ox^its own. It is not confined like 
hexameter by a full close at the end of every line, nor like rhyme 
by a full close at the end of every couplet. Its construction, which 
admits the lines to run into each other, gives it a still greater majesty 
than arises from the length of the hexameter line. By the same 
means it admits inversion even beyond the I/atin and Greek hexa- 
meter, for these suffer some confinement by the regular closes at 
the end of every line. In its music it is illustrious above all. The 
melody of hexameter verse is circumscribed to a line, and of 
English rhyme to a couplet ; the melody of blank verse is under no 
confinement, but enjoys the utmost privilege of which melody of 
verse is susceptible, which is to run hand in hand with the sense. 
In a word, blank verse is superior to hexameter in many articles, 
and inferior to it in none, save in the freedom of arrangement 
and in the use of long words." {Ld. Karnes's Elements, p. 
302.) 

Shakespeare did not borrow from the complicated 
prosody of the Greeks and Romans, of which, probably, 
he knew but little. His richness, amplitude, and 
melody came by instincft and genius. Sometimies the 
sense of his measure is so sweet that it seems like 
a lovely sound from the ideal. What harmonj^ of 
words and metre in the opening lines of ' * Twelfth 
Night": 



268 SHAKBSPKARE. 

If music be the food of love, play on, 

Give me excess of it ; that surfeiting, 

The appetite may sicken, and so die — 

That strain again , it had a dying fall ; 

O it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 

That breaks upon a bank of violets, 

Stealing and giving odor — enough ; no more. 

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before, 

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 

Shakespeare's modulations are not only signs of 
things, but like notes of music are deliciously vague, 
and charm the imagination by some sudden transition 
from his iambic verse, as in these famous lines: 

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling. 

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 

And as imagination bodies forth 

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 

A local habitation and a name. 

{Midsummer Night's Dream. Act V. — Scene I.) 

The more one reads these wonderful produ(5tions, he 
will see that their author could choose his elements ; 
that he had the natural art of composing them according 
to the principles of verse, either by knowledge or 
instindl. Guided b}^ his ear rather than by reason, and 
more by a sense of inward melody than by a stri(5l 
observance of the niceties prescribed by technical rules, 
he rendered a strange and grand interpretation to his 
creations. Without entire conformity to what is now^ 
the established rules of grammar, and assimilating many 
words that have failed to take root in our speech, he 
regulated his work v/ith a phonetic distin<5lness, that 
remains wherever the language is spoken. 



SHAKESPEARE. 269 

His imagination was never entrapped by the shackles 
of mere rhythmical measurement, nor did he permit the 
nature of his dramatic plots to chain him to the 
choice between verse and prose ; with him the two styles 
are not incongruous, and the severest critic of his poetic 
powers would blush to attribute his success to the mere 
echo of his verse alone. When laying aside for the 
moment his inimitable lyre, how glorious is his prose. 
As a test of his euphonious English, take the following 
speech of Hamlet, Act II., Scene I. : 

" I have of late (but wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, 
foregone all custom of exercises, and, indeed, it goes so heavily 
with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to 
me a sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, 
look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof 
fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me 
than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece 
of work is man ! How noble in reason ! how infinite in facul- 
ties ! in form and moving how express and admirable ! in action 
how like an angel ! in apprehension how like a god ! the beauty 
of the world ! the paragon of animals ! And yet to me, what is 
this quintessence of dust ! Man delights me not, nor woman 
either. ' ' 

When, therefore, the passion of a poem is of the sort 
that relates to elevated ideas or heroic deeds, the 
measured line of Shakespeare will generally be preferred. 
Perhaps a striking instance to the contrary are the epics 
of Longfellow, who has moved the only lyre that 
England herself compares to that of her great living 
poet. The length of his measure in Evangeline far 
exceeds the heroic strain of Milton, or the idyllic num- 
bers of Tennyson, for it consists of successive combina- 
tions of eight feet, called octometre, which admits of 



2/0 SHAKBSPKARB. 

sixteen syllables or even more to the line, and upon 
a narrow page nearly one third of it is carried below the 
line to which it belongs. Yet notwithstanding the diffi- 
culty of his verse, such is his extraordinary sense of 
harmony that the ear never ceases to be pleased. His art 
of composing is regulated by a poetic genius that can 
form a melodious movement where there is no rhyme. 
There is such a charm in his constructions and such 
poetic beauty of expression that the soul is touched as 
well as the intellecft. 

The influence of Shakespeare upon our language 
has been constantly felt and acknowledged, and perhaps 
at the present moment he exercises greater authority 
than any living author. Our didlionaries and gram- 
mars teem with examples from his writings, and the 
most cautious weigher of verbal significations strength- 
ens his opinions by referring to the same source. When 
a philologist wishes to illuminate the history or usage 
of our language, he submits to our judgment a learned 
piece of etymological research from his works, and 
our modern writers allude to his expressive passages as 
the most diredl mode of conveying to the minds of 
their readers what they mean to express. When we 
desire to paint the temptations of glory, the allurements 
of ambition, the flatteries of passion, or the golden mem- 
ories of love, we endeavor to clothe our sentiments in 
the iridescent hues of his verse. 

The superb scale on which the libraries in this 
country are furnished with the various editions of 
Shakespeare and the writings connecfted therewith, 
excites our surprise and admiration. The Boston Public 
lyibrary by adding to its successive collections has been 



SHAKESPEJARK. 2/1 

able to publish a separate catalogue of such works, 
which fills two hundred and twenty-seven two-column 
octavo pages* ; and the Shakespearean library of the 
late William E. Barton of New York, was described in 
a catalogue of seventy-two printed pages, nor is it to be 
regarded as the largest collecftion of the kind belonging 
to private persons in the United States.* Indeed, every 
library, every college and institution of learning, has 
its Shakespearean colledlions, and several are on a 
scale of surpassing magnificence. It is knowm that at the 
present day ancient folio editions from that of 1623, 
and many other works of the highest value upon the 
subject of Shakespeare, are to be found in Cambridge, 
New York, Philadelphia, and in the University of 
Penns3dvania. The colle(5lions of private persons are 
also known to be peculiarly rich ; and the researches of 
American scholars have rescued the ancient texts from 
much of their obscurity, and thrown new and additional 
light upon matters affecfting their origin and histor3^ 
Several American authors and scholars have edited 
the works of Shakespeare with an original revision of 
the text, and have thrown much light upon the ancient 
fragmentary histories and works of whatever impor- 
tance. Verplanck, Hudson, Richard Grant White, 
William Cullen Bryant, and H. H. Furness have 
prepared and published full and learned impressions 
of all his writings. Indeed, his works are a favorite 
study in the United States, and our colledlions and 
reprints have already, probably, reached the dimen- 
sions of those in Europe. They are increasing ever}^ 
year, not only in the numbers but in the value of 

* Shakespeare in America, printed in German by Karl Knostz, 



2/2 SHAKESPEARE. 

the volumes. Those in the Boston Public Library, the 
Astor Library, at Cambridge, in the Pennsylvania Uni- 
versity, and the miscellaneous stores at Washington 
and elsewhere, rival those in the British Museum, or 
in the German universities. The people of this country 
read and study Shakespeare. Editions of his works 
are prepared for our schools and academies. No author 
is more popular. Cheap reprints of his works abound. 
His lyre has become immortal in the affedlions of mankind. 
The rudest back-woodsman on the western frontier reads 
Shakespeare in a copy that costs not more than fifty 
cents. The learned professions are full of Shakespearean 
scholars. The Shakespeare Society of Philadelphia is 
composed almost entirely of lawyers. Choate knew him 
by heart, and Mr. Carpenter's library was one of the 
richest repositories of Shakespearean literature, besides 
containing many separate volumes of the highest value 
upon the subject. Men who pra<5lice at the bar quite 
often enliven the dull and heavy work imposed by the 
law, by seizing at the flowers of fancy, wit, sentiment, 
and wisdom scattered plentifully throughout these 
wonderful creations, and which seem to bloom with per- 
ennial freshness for those only who know just how 
much of these beauties will serve to adorn their most 
brilliant efforts. Language is the daily habit of the 
barrister ; he is the public speaker par excellence, and 
here he finds simple ideas, incisive counsel, pregnant 
with point and thought, expressed in the depth of our 
pure, clear, vernacular idiom. A short phrase often 
contains all that unifies law, principle, and justice, and 
he learns lessons in pure language, taste, and strength 
of style better than from any other kind of belles-lettres 



SHAKKSPKARK. 273 

or philosophy. Indeed, if he is well grounded in the 
language of the mighty bard, he cannot be inaccurate 
in the knowledge and use of his mother tongue. It is a 
pure and copious fountain of energic and powerful 
English, and if he has an abounding stock of words let 
him read Shakespeare and learn shortness and pre- 
cision ; if he has a slender stock of ideas let him read 
again and his thoughts will multiply, and perhaps his 
brain take fire. 

In his little book about " Shakespeare in America," 
Mr. Karl Knostz claims that our clergy have a large 
share in popularizing the writings of that great author* 
in this country. He alludes to James M. Hoppin, pro- 
fessor of pastoral theology at Yale, in his work, *' The 
Office and Work of the Christian Ministry," who speaks 
strongly in favor of the study of Shakespeare, maintain- 
ing that all who desire to use choice language in their 
sermons should first make a study of Shakespeare, 
even if, in so doing, they slight the L-atin and Greek. 
The preacher, he says, should have a perfedl command 
of his mother tongue, and that this is possible without 
a knowledge of the classics is shown by such men as 
Benjamin Franklin, Goldsmith, Hugh Miller, John 
Bunyan, Horace Greeley, Bayard Taylor, and others. 
A theologian in order to form a good style, and to learn 
to express himself well, should not keep to the scientific 
works of his own particular study, for they would be 
his worst guides. A clergyman should become thor- 
oughly familiar with the best works of English litera- 
ture, and should give special attention to those of 

* The book of Mr. Knostz is a very able and interesting study on the branch 
to which it relates, and I gratefully acknowledge my obligations to him for 
valuable information in preparing some of these latter pages. The book is in 
the German language. 

i3 



274 shakksp^ar:^. 

Shakespeare. And Dr. Bmmons considered the read- 
ing of Shakespeare's works one of the best preparations 
for his sermons. Shakespeare was to him the cham- 
pion of humanity. He shows us man as a whole, made 
up of good and bad, wisdom and error, strength and 
weakness. His works remain always fresh, and like 
the commandment of love are always new. 



CHAPTER XL 

MODERN ENGLISH— CONTINUED. 

1. Bacon. His Style in Kng- Obsolete Words and Or- 

lish. thography. 

2. Raleigh. Founder of Eng- 5. Preachers of the 17th Cen- 

lish in the New World. tury. 

3. Richard Hooker. I^atin and 6. The Metaphysical Poets. 

Saxon Words. 7. The Regular Growth of Eng- 

4. Edmund Spenser. Use of lish. 

Wk have remarked in former chapters that poetry 
has always been the earliest form of composition in the 
history of written language.* We have also seen that 
works in English prose made their appearance as early 
as 1230, and what that appearance was may be seen in 
the Ancren Riwle (ancient rule) and in the homilies of 
Richard Rolle, hermit of Hampole, who wrote a century- 
later, and whose writings are supposed to have come 
down to us uninjured. But to reflec5l the oral usage of 
those who spoke in such English exceeds all human 
ability, except it may be in some fragmentary terms that 
have been preserved among rural populations in their 
local dialedls. lyater came other prose writers like 
Mandeville, Wickliffe, More, Cranmer, and the stirring 

* Voltaire, in his " Age of L,ouis XRT".," in mentioning the most considerable 
prose authors of his time, observes that none of them probably would ever have 
existed had they not been preceded by poetry. " Such," says he, " is the destiny 
of the human mind in all nations ; verse is everywhere the first offspring of genius 
and the parent of eloquence. It is the same with the people in this respect as 
with particular men. Plato and Cicero began by making verses. The few good 
stanzas of Malherbe were known by heart at a time when we could not quote 
a single sublime passage in prose ; and it is more than probable that without 
Pierre Corneille the genius of our prose writers would jieyer have been able to 
display itself." 



2/6 



BACON. 



rhetoricians of the religious controversies in the early 
part of the i6th century. No intelledl approached 
that of lyord Bacon. In genius and discernment 
his single associate was that impassioned son of 
light, William Shakespeare. The style of Bacon is 
in perfe(5l accordance with the exalted subje<5ls of 
which he treats. Placing the proper words in their 
proper places, he reveals a dicftion that far exceeds 
in clearness the Latin, into which some of his works 
were afterwards translated. He little thought that 
the mother tongue of his ancestors would become 
incalculably the richest and noblest speech for the 
preservation and spread of his philosophy. It is a nota- 
ble circumstance that he should have turned his works, 
which were first written in the vernacular, into the 
mould of a dead language, at the very moment when he 
was about to crown a new era of learning with the 
freshest and fairest gifts of indudlive reasoning. His 
essays are, however, preserved in their original English 
as are also many of his other writings. His treatise on 
the ' ' Advancement of Learning ' ' was first published in 
1605, and is a noble monument of plain and intelligible 
English. I extracfl some lines from the second book, 
vol. VI., p. 285, as they have a bearing upon our subjecfl : 

"Concerning speech and words, the consideration of them 
hath produced the science of grammar ; for man still striveth 
to reintegrate himself in those benedidlions, from which by his 
fault he hath been deprived ; and as he hath striven against the first 
general curse by the invention of all other arts, so hath he sought 
to come forth of the second general curse (which was the confusion 
of tongues) by the art of grammar ; whereof the use in a mother 
tongue is small ; in a foreign tongue more ; but most in such foreign 
tongues as have ceased to be vulgar tongues, and are turned only to 



BACON. 



277 



learned tongues. The duty of it is of two natures ; the one popular, 
which is for the speedy and perfedl attaining languages, as well for 
intercourse of speech as for understanding of authors ; the other 
philosophical, examining the power and nature of words as they 
are the footsteps and prints of reason ; which kind of analogy 
between words and reason is handled sparsim, brokenly, though 
iiot entirely; and, therefore, I cannot report it deficient, though I 
think it very worthy to be reduced into a science by itself. 

*' Unto grammar also belongeth, as an appendix, the considera- 
tion of the accidents of words, which are measure, sound, and 
elevation or accent, and the sweetness and harshness of them; 
whence have issued some curious observations in rhetoric, but 
chiefly poesy, as we consider it in respedl of the verse and not of 
the argument; wherein, though men in learned tongues do tie 
themselves to the ancient measures, yet in modem languages it 
seemeth to me as free to make new measures of verses as of dances ; 
for a dance is a measured pace, as a verse is a measured speech. In 
these things the sense is better judge than the art : Ccencs fercula 
nostrce mallem convivis quam placuisse cocis (the dinner is to 
please the guests that eat it, not the cook that dresses it) . And of 
the servile expressing antiquity in an unlike and an unfit subject, it 
is well said : Quod tempore antiquum videtur, id incongruitate est 
m,axim,e novum, (there is nothing more new than an old thing that 
has ceased to fit)." 

In 1623, or nearly twenty years later, he had the 
* ' Advancement of I^earning ' ' translated into I^atin 
under the name of De Augmentis Scientiarum , but "not 
without great and ample additions and enrichment 
thereof, especially in the second book, which handleth 
the partition of sciences in such sort as I hold it may 
serve, in lieu of the first part of the instauration, and 
acquit my promise in that part." So that he took the 
English work designed for another purpose and cast it 
into lyatin, to be the first part or preparation for his 
Instauratio Magna. It is generally supposed that the 



2/8 BACON. 

translation was made by Dr. Rowley, his chaplain, Ben 
Jonson, his devoted friend, and Hobbes, who was at 
that time his disciple. The first of these, who after- 
wards became his biographer, has bestowed the highest 
praise upon the terseness and beauty of Bacon's original 
English, and he remarks in his *' lyife of Bacon" : "In 
the composing of his books he had rather drive at a 
masculine and clear expression than at any fineness or 
affedlation of phrases, and would often ask if the mean- 
ing were expressed plainly enough, as being one that 
accounted words to be but subservient or material to 
matter, and not the principal. And if his style were 
polite, it was because he would do no otherwise. 
Neither was he given to any light conceits nor descant- 
ing upon words, but did ever purposely and industriously 
avoid them ; for he held such things to be but digressions 
or diversions from the scope intended, and to derogate 
from the weight and dignity of the style." 

Jonson has described the singular charm of Bacon's 
colloquial and forensic habit of speaking. I give his 
own words, for nothing finer has ever been said of an 
orator: "Yet there happened in my time, one noble 
Speaker, who was full of gravity in his speaking. His 
language (where he could spare, or passe by a jest) was 
nobly censorious. No man ever spoke more neatly, more 
freshly, more weightily, or suffered less emptinesse, less 
idleness, in what hee utter 'd. No member of his speech 
but consisted of its owne graces. His hearers could not 
cough, or looke aside from him, without losse. Hee 
commanded where hee spoke, and had his judges angry 
and pleased at his devotion. No man had their af- 
fections more in his power. The feare of every 



BACON. 



279 



man that heard him was lest hee should make an 
end." 

A man who in the use of his native tongue could 
combine so many varied forms of expression with so 
much sensibility and fancy, and who concentrated an 
opulent imagery with such a terse and piquant sim- 
plicity could easily have made an immortal classic of 
his Novum Organum, that, perhaps, no other language 
could have surpassed. How much of the value and 
spirit of this work was lost in its classic counterpart may 
be inferred from a passage in Hallam, who informs us 
' ' that the Latin style of these writings is singularly con- 
cise, energetic, and impressive ; but frequently crabbed, 
uncouth, and obscure, so that we read with more admira- 
tion of the sense than delight in the manner of delivering 
it." His mental exuberance poured forth a profusion 
of discourses, histories, apologies, essays, dialogues, dis- 
sertations, and original researches in the vernacular, 
besides carrying on a correspondence that is still read 
with unspeakable sympathies, for much of it was written 
amidst the ruins of heart and hope. But his personal 
fortunes have been so well delineated by my honored 
friend, Mr. Lovejoy, the poet, lawyer, and author, in 
his attra(5live book on Francis Bacon, that it is hardly 
expedient to risk a failure in retracing the ground upon 
which that author has bestowed so much learning, and 
sketched the most vivid portraiture of human greatness 
and frailty. It is a worthy companion piece to those of 
lyords Campbell and Macaulay upon the same subje(5l. 

Bacon frequently alludes to his peculiar theory 
concerning the existence of spirits in the tangible parts 
of all bodies whatsoever, more or less ; and he teaches 



28o BACON. 

that they are not mere virtues or energies of matter, but 
**a body thin and invisible, and yet having place and 
dimensions, and real," and that they are enclosed in 
these bodies as in an integument. (Rule 2, History of 
Life and Death.) Mr. KHis, in his general preface to 
Bacon's philosophical works, mentions the facft that in 
his time the majority of philosophical reformers were 
strongly inclined to believe that all substances are ani- 
mated; that a principle of life pervades the* whole 
universe, and that each portion, besides its participation 
in the life of the world, has also a proper vital principle 
of its own. This do(5lrine appears to have influenced 
the views of Bacon, and throughout a large portion of 
his works his language ascribes intelligible qualities to 
the spiritus of things, such as feelings, passions, desires, 
and appetites. These expressions occur especially in 
the Sylva Sylvarum, or Natural History, his last work, 
the original of which is in Baconian Knglish. Accord- 
ing to this do(5lrine, the element of sensation is univers- 
ally diffused throughout the material world. Tangible 
bodies have no pleasure in the consort of air, the appetites 
of solid bodies resist separation, and air shows no appetite 
for ascending. He speaks of the malignant spirit of 
opium, and of oily substances as having no desire to 
unite with air, and of the latter as not preying upon the 
former. He believes it possible to make gold, but that 
the spirit of the metals used in the operation should be 
detained, for, if allowed to escape, the metals become 
hard and churlish. So the working of the load- 
stone is by consent of the globe ; the motion of gravity is 
by consent of dense bodies with the globe of the earth ; 
the main float and refloat of the sea is by consent of the 



BACON. 281 

universe as part of the diurnal motion, and stones have 
in them fine spirits, as appeareth by their splendor, and, 
therefore, they may work by consent upon the spirits of 
men to comfort and exhilarate them. 

New words and names inust be invented for new 
things, or old ones may be used when they express the 
meaning of something just made known. In this matter 
Bacon was justified by the example of many writers. 
But such words as desire, appetite, and consent would 
seem to imply perception as well as sensation, and are 
also suitable to express a consciousness of the presence of 
other bodies, and of the changeable state which they 
produce in each other, either of pleasure or pain. Now, 
whether this is a confusion of thought or of language, 
the doctrine, we are informed, was distinctly affirmed 
by Telsius and Campanella, who were among Bacon's 
contemporaries. But now except for the purposes of 
metaphor or hyperbole, this abuse of words has fallen 
into obscurity, together with the philosophy to which 
they belonged as a mode of explaining the phenomena 
of matter. 

Bacon was very curious about names. In the 
''Novum Organum,^^ for instance, he lays down his 
views of the idola, which he divides into four classes: 
idols of the tribe, idols of the cave, idols of the market 
place, and idols of the theatre. In another work, tem- 
poris partus masculus is a brave and noble term, meaning 
that indudlion is the masculine birth of time. The word 
form expresses the abstract qualities of matter, as heat 
or cold; and spiraculum is the higher soul of man as 
distinguished from the lower soul, which has fallen into 
a depressed or inferior grade of being in his dual nature. 



282 BACON. 

However forcible these terms or phrases may have ap- 
peared to Bacon and his immediate disciples, succeed- 
ing authors have declined to adopt them, either in phi- 
losophy or literature. Indeed, few of the words or 
names he coined are now in common use. 

In his English compositions Bacon seems to have 
been aware of the value of Saxon words. The Latin 
often furnishes him with duplicates, but he seldom sub- 
stitutes them for a vigorous Saxon term. His history 
of King Henry VII., and his fable of the New Atlantis, 
are as un-Latin like as possible, and the Saxon, or 
monosyllabic part of the vocabulary, supports the most 
elevated periods, and entirely constitutes their unpre- 
tending conne(ftions. Most of the neologisms sandlioned 
in these volumes have become permanent forms of Eng- 
lish. In his philosophical works, on the contrary, most 
all the words he invented, and many of those he bor- 
rowed, have become obsolete, or tend to obsolescence. 
Thus, lapadijication, inlupidate^ malificiate (borrowed 
from Burton), transeur^ transcursion ^ impinguate^ un- 
materate, and many others, have lost their import, and 
their places have been assumed by modern substitutes. 
In the New Atlantis old forms are frequent, as mought 
for mighty letteth in the sense of hinder^ prevented for 
anticipated, dorture for dormitory, lanthorn for lanthern, 
emerands for emeralds, holpen for helped, etc. But in 
the new edition the editor has modernized the spelling. 
The two works last named are both in grand old Bacon- 
ian English. One was the first history, and the other 
the first work of the imagination, composed in copious 
elegant Modern English as we still employ or misem- 
ploy it. 



BACON. 



283 



Had Bacon, instead of deriding his native tongue, ex- 
plored its capacity, penetrated its expressive power, and 
enriched it with the illustrations of his science, he would 
have doubtless been celebrated to the latest posterity as 
one of its greatest benefa(5lors. But desirous of being 
understood by the few of his own age who could read 
I^atin, he disdained the speech of his forefathers, and 
vainly attempted to soar on the wings of a classical one 
to the summit of science for all time. Previous to his 
century, the Latin language could scarcely be called 
quite a dead one, because it had universal possession of 
the learned world, which, from a great variety of cir- 
cumstances, it has long since lost. There are few who 
read his works in their classical form. The native sim- 
plicity and genuine dignity, which are the greatest orna- 
ments of Bacon's English compositions, leave us no room 
for doubt but that he might have conferred upon his 
native tongue the same benefit that the Italian dialec5l 
derived from the writings of Dante and Petrarch in 
poetry, and Boccaccio in prose, and that the English 
had already received from the immortal works of Chau- 
cer, Shakespeare, and Spenser. 

It will not be expecfled that I shall enter upon an 
exposition of the Baconian philosophy, for it is not as a 
philosopher, nor a thinker, but as a writer that Bacon 
belongs to our subjedl. It is sufiicient to say that before 
Bacon wrote the Novum Organum science was obscured 
in the subtilities of logic, and for nearly two thousand 
years had made but little progress. He developed the 
idea of indudlion, the true method of interpreting nature. 
It is the eternal philosophy of the mind and of its ideas. 
The philosophical Reid has said of it : " After men had 



284 BACON. 

labored and searched for truth during two thousand 
years with the aid of syllogism, Lord Bacon proposed 
the method of induction as an instrument more power- 
ful. His Novum Organum may be considered as a sec- 
ond grand era in the progress of human reason." And, 
although it is now denied that Bacon discovered this 
principle, yet all will acknowledge that he pointed out 
its true value, and taught its applicability to the ele- 
mentary arts of life, as well as in the search for truth, 
either in human thought or material nature. Pra<5lice 
makes perfecfl, work and experience verify fa<5ls, and 
these in their turn establish principles. Franklin 
brought down the lightning, and thereby established 
its direcftability, and one hundred years later a galvanic 
current was found to transmit signals at a distance. 
This was not accomplished by mere logical demonstra- 
tion, but by an application of recognized fa(5ls. To 
reason by logic to a fadl or circumstance is like putting 
the cart before the horse. Experimental application 
gives a living proof that surpasses logic. Bacon post- 
poned the speculative powers of the mind to the realities 
of life, and started mankind on the highway of progress. 
The result is pra(5lically illustrated by a great variety of 
beneficient examples in the improvement of society. 

But to return to Bacon's language. We have seen 
that prose writing had been developed enough for the 
purpose of narrating historical events and of condudling 
correspondence and religious controversies. But Bacon 
was the first to use our Anglo-Saxon speech in expound- 
ing philosophy, and he thus paved the way for a long 
line of illustrious authors, to whom we are indebted for 
the most profound researches in every branch of intel- 



BACON. 



285 



le<5lual science, and who formed their strong and per- 
spicuous style in our English idiom. An extradl from 
Bacon's essay on Judicature will furnish an example in 
which the Saxon and I^atin etymologies are blended, 
and we can notice that the same collocation of words 
prevail as is still pradliced by our best writers, and that 
the benefits he might have conferred by developing the 
immeasurable resources of our language, could only 
have been equalled by what he effedled in a philosophi- 
cal diredlion : 

** Secondly, for the advocates and counsel that plead. Patience 
and gravity of hearing is an essential part of justice, and an over- 
speaking judge is no well-tuned cymbal. It is no grace to a judge 
first to find that which he might have heard in due time fi-om the 
bar; or to show quickness of conceit in cutting off evidence or 
counsel too short, or to prevent information by questions, though 
pertinent. The parts of a judge in a hearing are four : to dire6l the 
evidence ; to moderate length, repetition, or impertinency of speech ; 
to recapitulate, select, and collate the material points of that which 
hath been said, and to give the rule or sentence. Whatsoever is 
above these is too much, and proceedeth either of glory and willing- 
ness to speak, or of impatience to hear, or of shortness of memory, 
or of want of a staid and equal attention. It is a strange thing to 
see that the boldness of advocates should prevail with judges ; 
whereas, they should imitate God, in whose seat they sit, who 
represseth the presumptuous, and giveth grace to the modest ; but 
it is more strange that judges should have noted favourites, which 
cannot but cause multiplication of fees and suspicion of by-ways. 
There is due from the judge to the advocate some commendation 
and gracing, where causes are well handled and fair pleaded, 
especially toward the side which obtaineth not ; for that upholds in 
the client the reputation of his counsel, and beats down in him the 
conceit of his cause. There is likewise due to the public a civil 
reprehension of advocates, where there appeareth cunning counsel, 
gross negledl, slight information, indiscreet pressing, or an over- 
bold defense ; and let not the counsel at the bar chop with the judge, 



286 BACON. 

nor wind himself into the handling of the cause anew after the 
judge hath declared his sentence ; but, on the other side, let not the 
judge meet the cause half-way, nor give occasion to the party to 
say his counsel or proofs were not heard. " 

It is estimated, that there are not less than thirty-five 
verbs in this extradl, one half of which are of I^atin 
derivation; many of the latter, however, had passed 
through a Norman- French crucible. Nouns and adjec- 
tives swarm from the same source. Saxon terms out- 
number all others in the composition. 

The printing press had made books common in 
Bacon's time, and education had diffused a desire for 
knowledge. His essays were read and appreciated by 
a large class of the common people, who enjoyed the 
lucidity of his didlion. The essays were first published 
in 1597, when he was in his thirty-.sixth year. In them 
he explains the duties of life, and enforces the highest 
principles and emotions that are sandlioned by wisdom, 
virtue, and religion. His style reveals striking images 
and vigorous idiomatic terms upon which his genius 
confers the highest attributes of expression — clearness, 
power, and beauty. It elicits even in our day as much 
interest and gratification as the finest models in our 
literature. In his declining years he wrote: " I do 
now publish my essays, which of all my other works 
have been most current ; for that, as it seems, they come 
home to men's business and bosoms." It has been 
said of them that of all the productions in the Eng- 
lish language, they contain the most matter in the 
fewest words ; and he expressed the belief that they 
would ' last as long as books and letters endured.'" 
His philosophical works did not share the same favor. 



RALBIGH. 287 

They were composed in the speech of Rome, according 
to the usage of learned writers in all Europe, who wrote 
for each other, and who had small confidence in the pro- 
gress and cultivation of their own idioms. They did 
not think that the dialecfls which they scorned had the 
vital independence of spoken tongues, and that while 
that vitality inhered they would sooner or later, when 
used amid powerful and civilized races, burst the fetters 
which condemned them to inferior position, and swell 
beyond the gross prejudice against their literary value. 
Poets, philosophers, historians, and other writers have 
long since composed their works in the language of 
polished conversation, and even those engaged in affairs 
of international diplomacy conduc5l their correspondence 
in their own tongue. 

Among the prose writers of the i6th century, the 
names of Raleigh and Hooker are, perhaps, the most 
eminent. Raleigh had a characfter which appeals to the 
heroic vein in our nature. He lived in an age of 
momentous histories, and became the public idol and 
the queen's favorite. He was twice condemned to be 
executed, and wrote his celebrated history of the world 
in the Tower while awaiting the sentence of decapita- 
tion. He had fought by the side of Henry of Navarre, 
and sailed with Coligny when in command of a fleet. 
The discoveries of new lands, and the rage for foreign 
enterprises maintained public excitement and private 
interest in the most intrepid and contingent adventures. 
The genius of naval warfare seledled the British seas for 
its empire. Cadiz was captured and pillaged, and the 
defeat of the Spanish Armada checked a power that was 
rapidly achieving universal dominion. Raleigh hated 



288 hook:^r. 

Spain, and sought to make Kngtand mistress of the New 
World. He condu(5led three expeditions to America, in 
one of which he penetrated the gigantic forests of the 
Amazon in a vain quest for El Dorado, the land of gold. 
In 1584 he reached the shores of North Carolina. What 
a spe(5lacle met the eyes of Raleigh ! The mainland 
was full of mysteries and hopes. It seemed as if the 
sun had chosen this land where it could shine brightest. 
The perfume of flowers was wafted on the wooing breeze 
to the isles near the continent. The sailors were en- 
chanted, and the eight hundred colonists who accom- 
panied the fleet chose the spot for their settlement. 
This was the beginning of our Anglo-Saxon language 
and our Anglo-Saxon customs of government in that 
fair land. These first pioneers comprehended the most 
energic, and even warlike, of the early immigrants, and, 
notwithstanding their misfortunes, they founded an 
empire of Saxon speech that extended from Virginia to 
Florida, and over the mountain chains and forests of 
the West, embracing the fairest and most fruitful regions 
of the world. These circumstances make it more inter- 
esting to consider Raleigh as a propagator of our lan- 
guage by colonization, rather than by his poetry or his 
prose. We have only to look at Mexico to see how 
different our fate and history would have been if Spain 
had settled that vast area with its people, its blood, and 
institutions. Let us remember that it was the Caroli- 
nian colonists and Sir Walter Raleigh who effe<5led this 
transfer of territory and speech to our race. 

Perhaps Richard Hooker had the finest literary style 
to be found among the prose writers of the i6th century, 
and his works embody nearly all the real improvements 



HOOKE^R. 289 

that had been made towards its close, exhibiting a 
strudlure of language which Sir James Mackintosh pro- 
nounces not equalled by any earlier, and, he thinks, 
hardly surpassed by that of any later writer, and pre- 
senting us with an instance of the confluence of the two 
great sources of English into one onward stream of set- 
tled language ; and the historian of the English people 
remarks that * ' the largeness of temper which chara(5ler- 
ized all the nobler minds of his day, the philosophic 
breadth which is seen so clearly in Shakespeare, as in 
Bacon, was united in Hooker with a grandeur and state- 
liness of style which raised him to the highest rank 
among English prose writers." 

He is mentioned by endearing terms, as the venerable 
Hooker, the judicious Hooker, the learned Hooker, and 
his name is rendered familiar in the commencement elo- 
quence of law schools by the fragment from one of his 
treatises, that law has its san(5lion in heaven and its 
source in the bosom of God. I present a single passage 
from the fifth book of his work on "Ecclesiastical 
Polity," where he speaks of those inspired poems, the 
Psalms, in the following terms : 

' ' What is there necessary for man to know which the Psalms 
are not able to teach ? They are to beginners an easy and familiar 
introdu6lion, a mighty augmentation of all virtue and knowledge. 
* 7t * * Heroical magnanimity, exquisite justice, grave mod- 
eration, exadl wisdom, repentance unfeigned, unwearied patience, 
the mysteries of God, the sufferings of Christ, the terrors of wrath, 
the comforts of grace, the works of Providence over this world, and 
the promised joys of that world which is to come, all good neces- 
sarily to be either known or done, or had, this one celestial fountain 
yieldeth. Let there be any grief or disease incident unto the soul 
of man, any wound or sickness named, for which there is not in this 
19 



290 SPENSER. 

treasure-house a present comfortable remedy at all times ready to be 
found. Hereof it is that we covet to make the Psalms especially 
familiar unto all." 

It will be seen that Hooker did not hesitate, scholar 
as he was, between the new Latin terms and the Saxon 
in wielding the words of both tributaries to give force 
and dignity to his English. Take, for instance, the 
Vfords familiar, augmentation, magnanimity, moderatioUy 
celestial, fountain, and such like in the citation, and 
notice how exquisitely they blend with those of Saxon 
origin, and form themselves into sentences quite as 
English, just as comprehensible, and of superior elegance 
to what the passage would have been if expressed only 
in Saxon adjun(5ls. 

I have felt constrained to pass over one of the most 
illustrious names in the literature of that age — that of 
Edmund Spenser, whom such an impartial critic as Sir 
James Mackintosh has placed next to Shakespeare and 
Milton as a poet. His highest title to this rank is 
founded upon his " Faerie Queen," a poem which 
displays in a remarkable manner the wealth and flexi- 
bility of the English tongue. But his terms are more 
archaic than those of his age ; and the opinion has been 
expressed that the mould of his language is no improve- 
ment upon that of Chaucer generations before. How- 
ever that may be, many of his words had lingered in 
desuetude, and some had grown obsolete, if not extincfl. 
The tentative words that he invented, and those he 
introduced from foreign sources, in order to help out 
his peculiar versification, have generally been refused 
admission into our vocabulary ; and his changed spelling 
of words has not been accepted. '* That Spenser is not 



PRKACHKRS OF THE 17TH CENTURY. 201 

more read," says his biographer, Philip Masterman, '' is 
to be ascribed in a great measure to the antiquated didlion 
in which he writes, and to the necessity of preserving 
the ancient orthography — a necessity which arises from 
the liberties which the poet has taken in changing the 
spelling of words for the sake of rhyme; the conse- 
quence is, that it is impossible to modernize the Faerie 
Queen without destroying the metre." Says Dr. 
Sayers : ' ' He had construdled a scheme of language 
for himself, in which he deserved to find no followers, 
and found none." These are the reasons assigned why 
that extraordinary produdlion is perused by compara- 
tively few persons. It was an era of new intelligence, 
in which learning was polishing the general usage of 
our vernacular, and transforming it into a classic model. 
Unfortunately Spenser appears to have ignored the new 
unfolding and extraordinary power of our language for 
improvement, and he renewed the vestiges that were 
hastening to oblivion. We are charmed with the stately 
and graceful march of his verse, and the various fall of 
its musical cadence upon the ear, but as he failed to 
contribute anything but decaying phrases to the progress 
of our idiom, we have not felt encouraged to consider 
his works in conne<5lion with our subjedt. 

Our language enjoyed the great and inestimable 
benefit of many preachers, who to fervid piety joined a 
wide and varied scholarship, and the acquisitions of labo- 
rious study. Their fluent eloquence unfolded in a high 
degree the mutual influence of thought and language, 
and produced a sacred form in our literature that has 
been a constant source of purification. Such was the 
service rendered by Jeremy Taylor, Ralph Cudworth, 



292 'I'HK ME^TAPHYSICAI, POKTS. 

Robert South, and others. These grand preachers of 
the 17th century conferred upon English a salutary 
influence analogous to that which lyUther's translation 
of the Bible had upon the German. 

I shall avoid anything like a minute enumeration 
of a race of authors who flourished at the same time, 
and whose objedl was apparently to amuse their readers 
by striking epigrams and far-fetched conceits or hyper- 
bole. These were called the metaphysical poets, and 
are thus described by their biographer, Dr. Johnson : 

* * The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to show 
their learning was their whole endeavour ; but, unluckly resolving 
to show it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry they only wrote 
verses, and very often such verses as stood the trial of the finger better 
than of the ear ; for the modulation was so imperfedl that they were 
only found to be verses by counting the syllables. * * * As they 
were wholly employed on something unexpedled and surprising, 
they had no regard to that uniformity of sentiment which enables 
us to conceive and excite the pains and pleasures of other minds ; 
they never inquired what, on any occasion, they should have said 
or done ; but wrote rather as beholders than partakers of human 
nature ; as beings working upon good and evil, impassive, and at 
leisure ; as epicurean deities, making remarks on the actions of 
men and the vicissitudes of life without interest and without emotion. 
Their courtship was void of fondness and their lamentation of sorrow. 
Their wish was only to say what they hoped had never been said 
before." 

It is often our ignorance of a former age that obliges 
us to accept the conclusions of the critic. Without 
knowing anything beyond his suggestions, we fail to 
distinguish what is just from the reverse. The age in 
which the metaphysical poets lived had a judgment of 
its own. Though criticism was almost unknown, there 
were polished society and a clear and acute intelligence ; 



THK MEJTAPHYSICAI. POETS. 203 

Bacon and Hobbes, Hooker and Jeremy Taylor, bad 
examined tbe moral and intellectual quality of human 
nature, and a critical knowledge of tbe classical lan- 
guages and literature was universal among scholars. 
Tbe poets just described bad great success in tbeir time. 
Tbey were, as Jobnson remarks, men of learning, and we 
may conclude tbat tbeir affected style did not entirely 
eclipse tbeir brilliant fancies. Waller redeems tbe 
unnatural combination of bis pbrases and images by a 
flowing smoothness of versification and an occasional 
felicity of diction never before attained, while Cowley 
has many passages of genuine inspiration and ethereal 
beauty. Denham scatters here and there among his 
augmentative lines many splendid images and prospects 
of human life. There is scarcely a remembrance of 
others, such as Luckling and Herrick, whose numbers 
were supposed to be tbe standards of perfection by tbeir 
contemporaries. Dr. Johnson in his " I^ives of the 
English Poets ' ' has enumerated their names and works 
in a succession of dazzling portraits and critical observa- 
tions, which have preserved them from total oblivion. 
However, the labor of tbeir learning and genius has not 
been wholly lost. Tbeir complicated figures and forms 
of expression were not without tbeir value as a linguistic 
exercise. They probably versified the same image or 
idea over and over, until they produced something strik- 
ing and pungent. They appear to have tried every turn 
of speech, and experimented upon the resources of our 
idiom to find words to express the same ideas in many 
different forms. This effort to ascertain in how many 
various ways anything could be described would serve 
at least to exhibit the extended range of Knglish phrase- 



294 



SIR THOMAS BROWNK. 



ology and the variety of its vocabulary. Perhaps I 
may venture the remark that we can trace to their inven- 
tions the superabundant copiousness of our words, for it 
is doubted whether they could have found in any other 
living language so many different forms of expressing 
the same thought or image ; and though nobody com- 
prehended their contortions, it was of no consequence to 
them, for they did not compose to be understood, but to 
be admired. 

The prose writers of the period also affedlfed a 
quaintness of stjde and a collocation of language that 
was not particularly fortunate or graceful. Sir Thomas 
Browne, for instance, who was an elegant scholar and a 
man of genius, was not entirely free from this affectation. 
His works surpass those of any naturalist, philosopher, 
physician, or moralist after I^ord Bacon's generation down 
to his own, and are the effusions of the highest gifts of the 
human intelledl. Taine thinks him a kindred spirit to 
Shakespeare, and says that "No one has revealed in 
more glowing and original expressions the poetic sap 
which flows through all the minds of the age." Unlike 
Bacon, however, he composed his works in English, 
and he does not appear to have observed any poverty in 
its forms, or to have been at a loss for the most suitable 
terms of expression. Indeed, his most beautiful and 
forcible passages are precisely those which are the most 
endued with the English idiom. His works were col- 
lected and reprinted in 1852, His vast erudition, his 
fine descriptive powers, his broad and generous sympa- 
thies, his noble and magnanimous sentiments, have 
entitled him to the love and admiration of succeeding 
generations. 



GRADUAI. DKVKlyOPMKNT OF THK I^ANGUAGE^. 



295 



Notwithstanding the effort made to develop it, the 
growth of language is slow and gradual. Each advance 
of the human mind is accompanied by greater excellence 
in its use. We do not suspe(5l the complexity of the 
causes that have transformed it into the medium of 
ordinary conversation, and much less to express the 
mental operations of the highest intelledl and culture. 
The writer and the speaker use it without thinking of 
its change from rude Anglo-Saxon, or of the uninter- 
rupted exertion of so many generations since, and the 
millions upon millions of men who have contributed to 
its development. No phenomena are more wonderful 
than the intensity of this effort. At first trodden under 
foot and despised as the jargon of slaves and serfs, it 
springs into life and becomes the dialedl of those who 
attempted to crush it ; and gradually rising higher and 
higher it is adopted as the language of the court, of the 
state, and finally the exclusive speech of our literature 
and law. There is scarcely a break in the continuity 
of its progress. I^ook at its past for a moment and see 
how steady has been the flow of our speech. The 
English of lyayamon and the Ancren Riwle in the 13th 
century, is very different from that of Wickliffe and 
John Barbour, of Aberdeen, in the 14th; and though 
the historical changes in our language were probably 
less rapid during the exterminating Wars of the Roses, 
when literature and letters were submerged in the 
clangor of arms, yet even in the gloom and violence 
which then prevailed it lived in the songs of the people, 
and was lit up by the sacred fires of poesy that Chaucer 
had kindled, and by the brilliant metrical compositions 
and prose writings of the Scottish authors. Surrey, who 



296 PKRIODS DIS'TINGUISHKD BY GRE^All^ WORKS. 

belongs to the next century, and is said by Warton to 
be the first poet who wrote classical English, just pre- 
ceded the wonderful eruption of dramatic literature 
towards the close of the i6th century, when Marlowe, 
Green, Nash, Peele, lyOdge, Kyd, and others cultivated 
the racy idiom of their mother tongue with a savage 
luxuriance of life and expression, as if their words and 
thoughts were the brawn and muscle of animated bodies. 
It has often been remarked that there are periods in 
history when human genius suddenly bursts forth in 
some particular form, and produces works of such subli- 
mated excellence as to command the admiration of 
mankind. We can recall the age of Pericles, when the 
fine arts attained at a single bound an extraordinary 
splendor; and not less memorable was the revival of 
painting and sculpture during the 15th century, which 
was the glory of modern Italy. The era of dramatic 
literature just mentioned was perhaps a similar 
instance ; at least, it was the most remarkable period in 
the whole history of our tongue. Shakespeare and 
Jonson arose, the first at an infinite distance above the 
latter, and gave it a rapid and instantaneous complete- 
ness. There was at the same time an excessive mental 
acftivity in philosophical inquiry and general learning, 
as well as in works of romance and poetry. Bacon, 
Burton, Hobbes, and Hooker overlap upon Sidney, 
Spenser, Marlowe, and Shakespeare, and even Milton 
wrote his Mask of Comus while Jonson was yet alive. 



CHAPTER XII. 



MODERN ENGLISH— CONTINUED TO THE BEGINNING OF 
THE 19TH CENTURY. 



1. Milton's Use of the Saxon 10. 

Element. 

2. Compared with Homer. 

3. Improved Appearance of 11. 

English in Milton's 
Time. 12. 

4. His Proportion of Classical 

Terms. 13. 

5. Invocation to His Mother 14. 

Tongue. 

6. Vigorous English of His 15. 

Prose. 

7. His Appeal for Free 

Speech. 16. 

8. The Power of English. 17. 

9. Language of His Minor 18. 

Poems. 



Of *' Paradise Lost"; His 
Obsolete Words and Prac- 
tice of Inversion. 

Subsequent Influence Upon 
Our Tongue. 

His Use of Monosyllables 
and Familiar Words. 

His Contemporaries. 

No Personal Animosities in 
the Grand Epic. 

His Versification; the 
Sound and Meaning of 
Words. 

Theories of Language. 

Imitative Power of English. 

Sound and Sense in Mil- 
ton's Poetry. 



The English of a writer who has attained such emi- 
nence as the poet Milton must be of a charac5ler to 
entitle it to the greatest consideration in a work upon 
that language. We accordingly find that in all modern 
works on the subject, a large and often a most wonder- 
ful degree of respecft is shown for his powers as a philolo- 
gist, as well as a poet. This is owing to the great 



298 MII.TON. 

influence his writings have exercised upon subsequent 
authors in the use of our language, and in the expres- 
sions of refined thought. He taught his countrymen 
the true grandeur of the Saxon element in its construc- 
tion, and exhibited its wonderful beauty and easy flow 
in poetry. When the blind poet of old began to sing 
the deeds and valor of the Greeks, and the patience and 
endurance of the Trojans, he had little to assist him 
except his imagination, and put of that realm he drew 
his thoughts and peopled his Iliad with the grand figures 
of gods and men. Not so was it with the blind poet of 
Paradise I^ost. He not only brooded in darkness and 
silence, but the sombre hue of his fancy furnished no 
image but that of the world of spirits, and their confli(5ls 
with the Creator himself. The difference in the sub- 
je(5ls of the two poets is great, indeed. The one deals 
with the a(5livities of human life, its passions and ambi- 
tions, while the other delineates the spiritual forces of 
the unseen world in their rebellion against the Author 
of their existence. The one is full of the efforts of man, 
when he is excited by the strongest impulses to the 
accomplishment of what he considers the great aims of 
life; the other is a grand description of what a fallen 
race of angels sought to do in a world invisible and inac- 
cessible to human observation, and where all the powers 
of darkness were still more remote from human view by 
the shadowy realms they occupied. There is, indeed, a 
similarity in the greatness of the design, for they both 
portray the highest and noblest exercise of the intelledl 
when called, upon to think and acft, but the prodigious 
superiority of the one over the other is just here, in the 
grouping of men and their adlions, and in the grouping 



MII^TON. 299 

of angels and the heavenly hosts in their magnificent 
combats. There is little more to expedl in the delinea- 
tions of Homer than the perfe(5l manner in which they 
are made; there is nothing in Milton's great poem to 
expedl but a failure, unless it is executed by a genius 
almost as superhuman as the scenes it describes. But 
neither have failed, and both are perfe(5l in their way. 
This comparison is not made upon any idea of the 
modern conception of poetry, for it would be unjust to 
both to measure them by such a standard. The ancient 
poem deals with things entirely out of the range of ordi- 
nary experience, and its heroes are demi-gods, and its 
spiritual creations are the mythological deities of the 
Greeks, while the poem of Milton deals with things 
entirely of another world, and such as never were nor can 
be experienced on earth. This is a species of poetry 
that has not been pra(5liced during the present century. 
The poet now turns his attention to the real things of 
life, making the passions of men, their condudl, their 
sorrows, their joys, and their morals the subjecfts of his 
verse. It is the poetry of life and the living manners of 
the age that tune the modern lyre. We perceive in this 
how great has been the change, and how erroneous it 
would be to judge the older poets with those of the pres- 
ent school. 

In Milton's day the English language had received 
many improvements. The form of its idiom was very 
different from that of the Brut of Layamon, or the 
Ormulum of a later period. Many works had appeared, 
and many had disappeared, but the language itself had 
remained and had taken on a new and improved appear- 
ance. Its moods and tenses had been reduced to order. 



300 



MII^TON. 



its nouns and pronouns had been simplified into one or 
two declensions, its conjun(5lions, adverbs, prepositions, 
and articles had assumed their present form and use, 
and the grammar had been studied, and the rules of 
syntax applied as we still apply them. Indeed, the 
language had acquired its literary symmetry and was 
written so that we can now read it without the aid of a 
glossary. But the great influence of Milton upon it 
was to show its wonderful power to express the highest 
flights of the most towering imagination. In this 
respecft he is unrivalled, and no one else has ever dared 
his lofty strain. The grandest epic is written in good 
old Bnglish-Saxon, and the proportion of foreign or 
classical terms is not greater than in Shakespeare. It 
is a singular circumstance that one of his earliest poems 
begins with a beautiful invocation to his mother tongue. 
He was then in his nineteenth year. It was a college 
exercise, partly in I^atin and partly in English. The 
latter part begins : 

Hail, native language, that my sinews weak 
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak, 
And madest imperfedl words with childish trips, 
Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips, 
Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask 
That now I use thee for my latter task ; 
I have some naked thoughts that rove about. 
And loudly knock to have their passage out. 

In his ''Literary Musings" he informs us that he 
was prompted to study and labor in order that he might 
perhaps leave something so written to after-times as 
as they should not willingly let it die ; and that he 
applied himself to that resolution so as to fix all the 
industry and art he could unite to the adorning of 



MILTON. 



301 



his native tongue, not to make verbal curiosities the 
end, but to be an interpreter and relater of the best 
and sagest things among his own citizens in the mother 
diale(5l. Never was an original design more brilliantly 
fulfilled. The name of Milton is not a theme of import- 
ance to any one unless he is somewhat versed in his 
writings. His prose is almost as wonderful as his 
poetry, and it would be difficult to understand what he 
had done for his native tongue without considering his 
various writings upon the controversies of his age. 
Here we will find the most vigorous and the plainest 
English, mingled with many Latin neologisms it is true, 
but still the native element predominates and gives force 
to the whole. Take, for instance, his noble defense of 
the freedom of speech. There is scarcely anything 
finer in the language. I shall premise by saying that 
in 1644 Milton published his noble remonstrance on 
the censorship of the press. Under Charles I. no book 
could be printed in England except it was submitted to 
the Star Chamber and received its sandlion. The Long 
Parliament abolished the Star Chamber, and for the 
moment the press of England appeared to be free. But 
the same Parliament which had denied the divine right 
of kings denied in the same breath the divine right of 
free speech, and passed an ordinance on the subjecft as 
tyrannical as any of those of Elizabeth, for the suppres- 
sion of individual thought and utterance. I give a 
single passage from Milton's protest to illustrate the 
quality of his language in prose, the magnanimity of his 
sentiments, the perspicuity of his expression, and the 
undaunted courage with which he remonstrated in the 
sacred name of justice against a Parliament composed of 



302 



MII^TON. 



his friends. He was as independent as he was superior 
to the sedlaries and partizans, who thought that freedom 
of speech and inquiry were only for those of their 
own opinion : 

"Why should we affect a rigour contrary to the manner of God 
and of nature by abridging or scanting those means, which books 
freely permitted are, to the trial of virtue and the exercise of truth. 
And now the time in special is, by privilege, to write and speak 
what may help to the further discussing of matters in agitation. 
The Temple of Janus with his two controversal faces might now not 
unsignificantly be set open. And though all the winds of doctrine 
were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we 
do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her 
strength. I^et her and Falsehood grapple ; whoever knew Truth 
put to the worst in a free and open encounter. Her confuting 
is the best and surest suppressing. He who hears what praying 
there is for light and clear knowledge to be sent down among us 
would think of other matters to be constituted beyond the discipline 
of Geneva, fram'd and fabric't already to our hands. Yet when the 
new light which we beg for shines in upon us, there be who 
envy and oppose if it comes not first in at their casements. What 
a collusion is this, whereas we are exhorted by the wise men to use 
diligence, to seek for wisdom as for hidd'n treasures, early and late, 
that another order shall enjoin us to know nothing but by statute. 
When a man hath been labouring the hardest labour in the deep 
mines of knowledge, hath furnished out his findings in all their 
equipage, drawn from his reasons as it were a battle, rang'd, scat- 
tered, and defeated all objections in his way, calls out his adversary 
into the plain, offers him the advantage of wind and sun, if he 
please, only that he may try the matter by dint of argument ; for 
his opponents then to skulk, to lay ambushments, to keep a narrow 
bridge of licensing where the challenger should pass, though it be 
valour enough in soldiership, is but weakness and cowardice in the 
wars of Truth. For who knows not that Truth is strong next to the 
Almighty ; she needs no policies, no stratagems, no licensings to 
make her victorious ; those are the shifts and the defences that 
^rror uses against her power. ' ' 



MII.TON. 



303 



Here we observe the full strength of the language in 
an effort to secure its own freedom. The passage con- 
tains 320 words; 280 of these are pure English-Saxon, 
and the balance come from other sources. But the 
arrangement of the sentences derives force and clear- 
ness from the juxtaposition of the words, and the 
sense goes along with them just as we arrange our sen- 
tences today. 

It is perhaps needless to describe the acftivity of his 
pen during the fierce struggles of the Commonwealth. 
The distra(flion in England gave rise to the most violent 
political and theological controversies. Milton's great 
sources of information, and the readiness and force of 
his writing, were conspicuous. He invigorated all the 
great questions of the confli(5l with his sound sense, the 
graces of his style, and the singular felicity of his lan- 
guage ; sometimes sarcastic even to bitterness, occasion- 
ally coarse in language, always acute, often moderate, 
and the constant friend of toleration in matters of opinion 
or faith, his genius might be compared to a furnace, 
into which every metal enters and comes out a medallion 
or a statue. He was the pen of the republic, as Crom- 
well was the sword of the civil war, and the light that 
streamed from the one was as brilliant and perhaps as 
useful as that which flashed from the other. Milton 
sided with the Puritans, because they admitted the Bible 
as the rule of faith, but he was greater than the Puritans, 
because he allowed each man to decide for himself, and 
had no intermediary between the individual and God. 
The divine nature of the Jewish Theosophy fired his 
imagination. ''The Scripture," I extradl from his 
Reason of Church Government, 



304 MIIvTON. 

"also affords us a divine pastoral drama in the Song of Solomon, 
consisting of two persons and a double chorus, as Origen rightly 
judges. And the Apocalypse of St. John is the majestic image of a 
high and stately tragedy, shutting up and intermingling her solemn 
scenes and a6ts with a sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harping 
symphonies. * * * * But these frequent songs throughout the 
laws and prophets, in the very critical art of composition, may be 
easily made to appear, over all the kinds of lyric poesy, to be incom- 
parable." 

And God himself has bestowed gifts 

* * to celebrate in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage 
of God's almightiness, and what He works, and what He suffers to 
be wrought with high providence in His church ; to sing victorious 
agonies of martyrs and saints, the deeds and triumphs of just and 
pious nations, doing valiantly through faith against the enemies of 
Christ." 

It will be felt that his style has all the intensity of 
the Saxon genius and language, with both force and 
harmony. Mr. Mills quotes the remarks of a critic in 
the Edinburgh Review, which read as follows : 

'* It is to be regretted that the prose writings of Milton should, 
in our time, be so little read. As compositions, they deserve the 
attention of every man who wishes to become acquainted with the 
full power of the English language. They abound with passages 
compared with which the finest declamations of Burke sink into 
insignificance. They are a perfedl field of cloth of gold. The style 
is stiff, with gorgeous embroidery. Not even in the earlier books 
of Paradise Lost has he ever risen higher than in those parts of his 
controversial works in which his feelings, excited by conflidl, find a 
vent in bursts of devotional and lyric rapture. ' ' 

But these refiecflions upon his prose writings have, 
perhaps, led us away from his poetry, upon which his 
fame now mostly reposes. His early poems were written 



MIL'TON. 



305 



while lie was at college, or soon afterwards. It is un- 
certain how many of them were the work of his later 
years, but all must agree that they evince a very high 
order of poetic genius. There is nothing in the language 
finer than some portions of the Comus. Take, for 
instance, the following idyll, descriptive of the home of 
Psyche : 

There eternal summer dwells, 
And west winds, with musky wing, 
About the cedar 'd alleys fling 
Nard and cassia's balmy smells. 
Iris there with humid bow 
Waters the odorous banks, that blow 
Flowers of more mingled hue 
Than her purpled scarf can show ; 
And drenches with Blysian dew 
(List, mortals, if your ears be true) 
Beds of hyacinth and roses, 
Where young Adonis oft reposes. 
Waxing well of his deep wound. 

If these lines are tinctured with the soft cadence 
of Rome, they clearly derive their beauty, vivacity, 
and force from the harmonious arrangement of Saxon 
etymons. 

We cannot pass from these earlier poems without 
calling attention to some of the most striking of them. 
The " Hymn of Christ's Nativity" ought to be read in 
order to appreciate its beauties. I can cite but one 
stanza from its solemn echo : 

No war or battle's sound 
Was heard the world around. 

The idle spear and shield were high up-hung, 

2Q 



3o6 MII.TON. 

The hooked chariot stood 
Unstained with hostile blood, 

The trumpet spoke not to the armed throng ; 
And kings sat still with awful eye, 
As if they knew their sovereign Lord was by. 

In his life of Milton, Mr. Bridges remarks that "the 
climax of his (Milton's) rhymes in this hymn is perfedl, 
and that there is no other lyrical stanza in our language 
so various, so musical, and so grand. The Alexandrian 
close is like the swelling of the wind when the blast rises 
to its height." 

In the "Iv' Allegro" and "II Penseroso," in "Sam- 
son Agonistes" and "I^ycides," are some beautiful 
cantos that have a place among his pieces for the pic- 
turesqueness of their style. The language in all these 
poems is so purely English that no one can mistake its 
origin, or fail to observe the uncommon gracefulness of 
the composition. Writers of the highest authority 
(notwithstanding Dr. Johnson) acknowledge that if 
Milton had written nothing more than his so-called 
minor pieces, their splendor would entitle him to the 
reputation of a great poet. 

His ' ' Paradise Lost ' ' has been the subje(5l of perhaps 
the finest and most complete critical review in our lan- 
guage, that of Joseph Addison. He takes a general 
view of this great epic under four heads, the fable, the 
chara(5lers, the sentiments, and the language, and in 
each of these particulars he proves that the poem is 
beautiful by being sublime, by being soft, and by being 
natural. He recommends it for its passion, for its 
moral, for its sentiments, and for its expression. He 
shows how the poet's genius shines by happy invention, 



MII^TON. 



307 



by exquisite judgment, and by judicious imitation, and 
he adds : ' * I have endeavored to particularize those 
innumerable kinds of beauty which may be met with in 
the works of this great author, ' ' and he pronounces in 
another connedlion that ' ' Paradise lyost is more useful 
and instru(5live than any poem in any other language. 
Indeed, the best judges hold it to be the greatest poem 
in the Knglish language, and others have not hesitated 
to express the opinion that it is the most sublime epic 
poem in any language. So far as I am able to judge, I 
join in both of these views." 

In regard to the language used by Milton, which is 
the matter that lies nearest to our subjecft, Mr. Addison 
acknowledges that by the choice of the noblest words 
and phrases which our tongue would afford him, he has 
carried our language to a greater height than any of the 
English poets have ever done before or after him, and 
thus made the sublimity of his style equal to that of his 
sentiments. It is sustained and lofty throughout as 
became his mighty theme. It is doubtful if any one has 
reached the lustre of his di(5lion, even after the vast 
interval through which our literature has passed since 
Addison wrote his criticism. 

Some criticism has been made upon Milton's assim- 
ilation of words from a foreign source, and of his use of 
technical terms. But in a composite language like our 
own is it not allowable and expedient to enrich it with 
verbal accretions, and has not this been one of the 
principal means sought to supply the resources of our 
vocabulary? Milton's original expressions enter into 
the idiom with such felicity that not more than 200 
words in his poetical works have become obsolete, and 



308 MII.TON. 

he employs ten per cent, less in a hundred words from 
a Latin origin, than Dr. Johnson, who criticises him. 
In the use of nouns and adjecflives he sometimes uses 
one for the other, and occasionally he adopts a vowel 
for a consonant to increase the softness and melody of 
the passage; he transforms the charadleristic endings 
of the parts of speech to accommodate the measure, and 
in repeated instances he has removed a syllable from 
the body of a vocable to overcome the disadvantage 
of its accent. He has also resorted to the expedient of 
inversion to secure elevation and majesty of expression. 
It was supposed to be the faculty of inversion that con- 
stituted the beauty of the learned languages. It was 
thought until Milton's time that the flexible cases 
and verbal inflexions, which could be applied in 
I^atin and Greek, afforded the poets and orators of 
the dead tongues many advantages denied to our 
own. But it is now admitted by the highest author- 
ity that the loftiness of Milton's style arises greatly 
from inversion. Of this observation the opening lines 
of Paradise Lost are a sublime example: 

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the world, and all our woe, 
With loss of Eden, till one greater man 
Restore us, and regain the blessful seat. 
Sing, heavenly Muse. 

He relied not only upon the native richness of 
his mother tongue, but upon all the aids to thought, 
energy, and beauty he could draw from his vast learn- 
ing, and his knowledge of other dialedls ; and whatever 



MII^TON. 



309 



accession of new terms he introduced, he conformed 
them with such singular grace, as if the admixture 
were a specimen of the language itself. One instance 
more will suffice : 

O thou, that, with surprising glory crown' d, 
Lookst from thy sole dominion like the God 
Of this new world ; at whose sight all the stars 
Hide their diminished heads ; to thee I call, 
But with no friendly voice. 

" The broad circumference of Satan's mighty shield," 
" he bows his grey dissimulation,'" and " the swan rows 
her state with oary feet ' ' are examples of his pidluresque 
and composite forms. 

This brings us to a consideration of Milton's influ- 
ence upon the subsequent progress of our tongue. He 
was, undoubtedly, the first to show its vigor in the 
region of pure imagination. No other writer since his 
day has ever attempted a similar theme, and no one 
has ever attempted to imitate him in his exalted sym- 
bolism, or in his grand conceptions of the world where 
the immortal spirit dwells and fulfills its destiny. 
There is a grandeur in his ideas, a sublimity in his 
thoughts that rises out of the boundless resources of 
his mind and overpower us by their splendor. But 
of all the many passages in his Paradise Lost 
that show how well he could use his native tongue, 
none will probably surpass his description of the con- 
fli(ft of the powers of darkness with the angelic hosts, 
in the sixth book. The combat is between demons 
and angels, between heaven and hell. It is not for 
earthly empire, but for the "Mount of God" itself. 



3IO 



MII^TON. 



The acfbion is full of astounding incidents. The impious 
foes hold almost an equal fight the first day, and the 
second they bring new engines of war to their assist- 
ance. The angels taken by surprise threw away their 
arms, and fled with lightning speed to the hills, and 

From their foundations loosening to and fro, 
They plucked the seated hUls with all their load, 
Rocks, waters, woods, and by the shaggy tops, 
Uplifting bore them in their hands. 

The Messiah himself appeared upon the third day, 

Gloomy as night under his burning wheels, 
The steadfast empyrean shook throughout 
All but the throne itself of God. 

and drove the hosts of evil beyond the crystal walls of 
heaven, headlong to the bottomless pit. These wonders 
are all related in plain English, and the whole descrip- 
tion, as far as the words are concerned, can be read by 
the most illiterate person who can read at all, 
and every one of them would seem familiar to him. 
It is this adherence to his own idiom that has made 
Milton an English classic, and one of the great land- 
marks of our language. We do not recall a writer 
of his century whose di6lion depends so much upon 
particles and monosyllabic words. Take, for instance, 
the description of Adam and Eve in the Garden of 
Eden ; especially where the latter speaks of her love, and 
that all the flowers, and 'birds, and harmonies of Paradise 
would be as nothing without the presence of Adam. 

When Milton speaks of the fallen angels he does not 
underestimate the great powers that they still possess, 



MIIyTON, 



311 



nor does he assign to them qualities that are merely 
human, but he describes them as the sons of God, 
with grand endowments and the highest type of 
genius. He never lowers the chara(5ler of the arch 
enemy to that of a mere devil, such as you find in the 
* ' Inferno, ' ' or in the ' ' Faust ' ' of Goethe. They are the 
gods of evil, warring on heaven and assailing its crystal 
walls. "The Satan of Milton," says a French author, 
"more fiery than the Prometheus of ^schylus, is an 
incomparable creation. ' ' He had no superior among the 
angels of God in intelledlual beauty and spiritual mag- 
nificence. He loses his hope of glory, love, and wor- 
ship ; and crushed, blighted, and ruined is hurled from 
the heavenly seats to the regions of darkness and 
despair. He becomes the leader of them all in evil ; the 
superior to them all in wickedness and daring. In the 
passages where he harangues his fellow sufferers, during 
the consultations described in Book III., there occur 
perhaps the most defiant denunciations ever uttered by 
man or devil. He advises that all the powers and 
dominions of hell should unite in one more effort to 
regain their lost place in heaven. Here the language 
is appropriate to the design in view. That fair world is 
lost ; there is no hope of ever entering it again unless 
they take it by force, and reign once more in the blessed 
beams of its light. The addresses flame with intense 
passion, befitting the stupendous plan of the arch 
conspirator. It may require great care to parse much 
of the language, owing to the lyatin mode of transposi- 
tion, but the words are nearl}^ all in the vernacular; 
there is probably not more than one in ten that is 
not pure English. And in the description of the visit 



312 



MII^TON. 



that Satan makes to the newborn planet to spy out the 
abode of the first happy pair of human beings, there are 
scarcely any words that are not familiar to every school- 
boy. We might cite hundreds of passages marked by 
the same preference for English etymons, but these will 
sufi&ce to show how this great poet enriched and devel- 
oped his mother tongue, by enshrining in its forms the 
thoughts and beauties of his mighty verse. 

We have already seen that at the time Milton wrote 
the language was pretty well formed. It had, in facft, 
passed out of the transitional period, and grown into a 
methodical form of speech. The early writers had per- 
formed much labor in bringing it into this condition, 
and had been the pioneers in its first steps towards 
development. There had been many crude grammat- 
ical forms in the strudlureof Early English, and many dia- 
lecfls were familiar in one portion of the kingdom that were 
unknown in others. But at the time Milton appeared 
the language had been used for several centuries, and 
in the long period of its probation had acquired a regu- 
larity that admitted of a uniform style for written com- 
position. It was this uniform speech that Milton 
employed and carried to the highest perfedlion. No 
previous author had used it with much success in blank 
verse, except Shakespeare ; but it was left to Milton to 
carry that form of versification to such lofty heights 
that it has never since been surpassed, if equaled. The 
most finished produ(5lions that have since appeared seem 
tame when compared with his Paradise lyost, in which 
we find the noblest sentiments clothed in the grandest, 
and, at the same time, the simplest words that could be 
selecfted from our vocabulary. This has undoubtedly 



MILTON. 



313 



had a great influence on the language itself, teaching us 
that it can be used for the highest purposes of poetry, 
and with the greatest effedl, when its simplest terms are 
employed. The influence of a great author upon his 
native tongue has often been the subjedl of remark, but 
perhaps it applies more strongly to Milton than to any 
other author, Shakespeare and Chaucer alone excepted. 
It is necessary to understand how far a man can go in 
order to test his endurance, and when we see him travel- 
ing far beyond his fellows we admit that his strength and 
endurance are superior to the other competitors in the 
race. So it is with the writers just mentioned ; they out- 
travel all their contemporaries, and come down to us as 
fresh and strong as when they commenced their journey 
to future generations. So it was with Milton. His con- 
temporaries were mostly men of the new order of things 
that Charles II. introduced upon his restoration to the 
throne. Then commenced a kind of literature that is 
almost forgotten. It was, in fadl, not fit to live, and 
therefore died a natural death at its birth. It was a 
worse type than any that preceded it, or followed it. It 
was without faith in God or man, and ministered to the 
baser passions, and only excited the feelings in order to 
blunt them. There was no man among the writers of 
that dreadful period of whom it could be said, as of Mil- 
ton, that he was blind to the ordinary obje(5ls of vision, 
but his inward sight was clear. The w^orld of sense was 
to him only an objedl of the past, but the unseen was 
the real world where his vision could see and read the 
great and eternal realities of the spirit. The advantage 
that Milton possessed over his contemporaries lay in the 
quickened powers of his soul, which soared above the 



314 MII^TON. 

things of earth that he could not see, into the things of 
the imagination, where his vision reveled in the splen- 
dors of the unseen glories of its creative power. When 
we consider that Milton was cut off, as it were, from 
books, and almost from friends, it seems strange that he 
could have meditated for months and years, and carried 
the plan of his great poem in his head, and wrought out 
its details and episodes without any one to cheer the 
gloom and solitude of his home. All was dark to his 
opaque eyeballs, but within all was the sunshine of a 
bright and glorious universe of light. He had no 
thought of solving the mysteries of the world around 
him ; he had withdrawn from it and raised his thoughts 
to another world, where he could imagine the grand 
secrets of the future, and describe the manner of the 
soul in its eternal home. There was no room for 
earthly prejudice in the plan. The great Florentine 
made his purgatory and his lower realms of darkness 
and despair the abode of his enemies, and of those whom 
he hated. The blind old man of England had lived an 
adlive life among men, and had given and received 
many heavy and rancorous blows, but he punished no 
one, spoke evil of no one, and imagined no one of all 
the enemies he had in the abodes of despair. Even the 
friends he loved, and the great men with whom he had 
been associated, were not elevated to the regions of the 
blessed. It was a great poem, created for wider pur- 
poses than to punish or reward mere individuals. 
When we consider the part he bore during the reign 
of the Commonwealth, it is surprising that he did not 
take occasion in his poems to portray some of the bit- 
terest among his foes in the colors of his satire and 



MIIyTON. -2 1^ 

revenge. Dante had used his genius before him for 
that purpose, and Dry den afterwards failed not to 
impale forever those whom he hated. But Milton, 
more magnanimous than either, never interrupted the 
story of his poem, nor belittled the grandeur of his 
theme by personal allusions. We cannot but admire 
the total want of personal matter in the poetry of his 
last years. There are only the touching lines upon the 
subjedl of his loss of sight, and in those he expresses no 
sour or irreverent spirit. The submissiveness of a child 
could not be more pathetically expressed. And when 
we also consider the troublous times in which he wrote 
his last pieces, we are astonished at the calmness of the 
man as much as at the fervor of the poet. We are not 
at liberty to suppose that Milton witnessed the downfall 
of his friends, the triumph of their foes, and the re- 
establishment of the old dynasty without emotion ; but 
it is a matter of surprise that he could view all these 
events without making them figure in his work. We 
must remember that the soul of the poet was absorbed 
in his theme, and that he could not turn from that for 
the temporarj^ affairs of a day. 

The versification of Milton is that species called blank 
verse. This metre had been employed by some of the 
early dramatists, especially by Shakespeare, who brought 
it to a great degree of perfecflion. No one after him had 
used it with much success. Beaumont and Fletcher, in 
some of their pieces, had tried to introduce it again upon 
the stage, but the effort was abandoned after one or two 
experiments. It was reserved for Milton to carry this 
metre to such grand and harmonious melody as to give 
it a place far above all the rhyming poetry that up to 



3l6 MIIvTON. 

that time had been composed. As has been explained 
already, it dispenses with rhyme in the ordinary sense 
of that term, and produces harmony by the regular 
arrangement of poetic feet in the line, by a pause in the 
proper place, and by accenting the syllable in the word 
so as to make it long or short. Of course, much depends 
upon the ear, and when it is pracfliced in the art the 
harmony is as fine and agreeable as in rhyme. The 
advantage of blank verse lies in its free and easy flow, 
in its preserving the sense from line to line, and in allow- 
ing the poet to carry out his image without compelling 
him to sacrifice it to mere words because the)^ sound 
alike. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

MODERN ENGLISH— CONTINUED TO THE BEGINNING OF 
THE XIX. CENTURY. 

1, Authors of the Restoration. 3. Dryden — Poet, Critic, and 

2. Butler, Author of "Hudi- Dramatist. 

bras. ' ' 

The authors belonging to the reign of Charles II. 
differ widely from those of the Pro tecft orate. The most 
nefarious abominations quickened in the ligbt of day, 
and the participators faced the publicity of their shame 
without a blush. The rapid and violent moral revolu- 
tion that followed the Restoration was as marked as 
that in national or political matters. We sometimes 
read but never study the literature of that dissolute era. 
The supply of words had become inexhaustible, and the 
writers on all occasions availed themselves without stint 
of these treasures, and even compounded them together 
in a manner seldom attempted before or since by those 
wishing to be understood in pure English. In less than 
ten years after the Restoration, profligacy of condudt and 
conversation was the only test of royalty, the sole qualifi- 
cation for rank and office. A deep and general taint had 
infedled the morals of the most influential classes, and 
spread itself through every branch of letters and litera- 
ture. Poetry inflamed the passions; even divinity itself 
inculcating an abjedl reverence for the court, gave addi- 
tional effe(5l to its licentious example. In the fashionable 



3l8 IvOW STATE OF LITERATURE. 

libertinism of the day, there is a hard, cold ferocity, an 
impudence and lowness that can be paralleled among 
the heroes and heroines only of its filthy literature. 
The drama was debased to the lowest dregs of indecency, 
profanity, and lewdness. ' ' The produ<ftions at that time 
represented in the theatre were such monsters of 
extravagance and folly, so utterly devoid of all reason, 
or even common sense, that they would be the disgrace 
of English literature, had not the nation made atone- 
ment for its former admiration of them by the total 
oblivion to which they are now condemned." (Hume, 
vol. II.) Indeed, what less could be expelled when 
the favorite duchess of the king stamped about White- 
hall, cursing and swearing, to the amazement of the min- 
isters who sat at the council board, and when the names 
of Rochester and Wycherly were the exponents of vice 
and libertinism. On the other hand, Waller, Cowley, 
and Sir William Temple, royalists to the backbone, 
stood firm for the dignity and decency of letters, and 
kept themselves ' ' unpolluted by that inundation of vice 
which overwhelmed the nation." Nor is the period 
without considerable claims to our respedl for discoveries 
in science of the highest importance. Robert Hooke 
and Christian Huygens invented the pendulum, and 
Robert Boyle perfec5led the air-pump, while Sir Isaac 
Newton, the greatest of philosophers, began to unfold 
his theory of the universe ; nor should we omit to men- 
tion with reverence an orator of that generation like 
Jeremy Taylor, or writers like Sir Thomas Browne and 
Sir William Temple. 

Since that time a myriad host of writers, speakers, 
and poets have appeared, with whose works we are 



BUTLER, THE SATIRIST. 319 

quite familiar, and their beautiful and harmonious lan- 
guage is now a common bond between the different 
branches of the race w^ho speak it over the whole globe. 
From this period we also date the works of our great 
satirists. Samuel Butler was the first in order of time. 
Satire was not a new feature in English language. 
Nearly one hundred years before, the popular indigna- 
tion against the vices and crimes of the priesthood, and 
of the court of Scotland, found expression in the satirical 
writings of her poets, especially in those of William 
Dunbar and Sir David Lindsay, which are full of gen- 
uine wit and broad humor. In 1597 Joseph Hall pub- 
lished his ' ' Three Last Bookes of Byting Satyrs, ' ' that had 
the honor of being burned by the order of the Archbishop 
of Canterbury, who at that time was one of the censors of 
the press. We read of the fixed reputation and wide- 
spread popularity of the poems of the two poets in the 
Northern kingdom, whilst little remains of the " Byting 
Satyrs" except their name. But the echo of Butler's 
great poem has come down to the present day. He pro- 
duced three cantos of Hudibras in 1663 ; the second part 
in 1664; the third part fourteen years later, and died in 
1680, leaving the poem unfinished. If we may judge of 
this author by his famous satire, he must have been a 
man of bitter and malignant temper. I digress for a 
moment to consider the spirit of the poem before coming 
to its language. The religious austerity of the Puritans, 
their vernacular and manners, were thought by Butler, 
who was an intense royalist, to be fair game ; and for 
sixteen years he burlesqued them with unmeasured 
industry. During all this time he shut his eyes to the 
abominable corruptions of the times, the social insincer- 



320 buti.br. 

ities and personal vices of the great mass of the royal- 
ists. '* Horace laughs at the follies of his age ; Juvenal 
glows with indignation at the vices of his own." Not 
so with the author of Hudibras. He passes over the 
proper subje(5t of his invedlive, and ridicules the men 
whose terrible deeds led the charge at Marston Moor, 
and whose success and genius raised England to the 
highest pitch of power and prosperity. He sneers at the 
peculiar phrases and epithets they had created, but 
which his friends had never sneered at, when rung 
athwart the battle-field. Their religious zeal is hypoc- 
risy ; the anomalies of their character are grotesque 
mummeries, and Cromwell's Ironsides, whose backs 
their enemies had never looked upon, are painted as pol- 
troons, speaking through their noses, and whose most 
heroic deeds consisted in cutting down May-poles and 
stopping bear dances. After the Restoration, the Puri- 
tans were persecuted with cruelties too horrible to relate. 
The A<fl of Oblivion was a delusion. The court favor- 
ites and royalists would gather around a gibbet for 
amusement, to see a Roundhead cut down alive, disem- 
boweled, his entrails cast into the fire, and his beating 
heart torn out and shown to the people, while they filled 
the air with coarse and brutal jests. We may be sure 
that these sanguinary profligates would be delighted 
with a poem so full of rancor and gross caricature of 
those they treated with such horrors. I transcribe a few 
lines from Taine (Book iii. , 465) , speaking of Hudibras : 

' ' Every thing turns on the trivial ; if a beauty presents itself, it 
is spoiled by burlesque. To read these long details of the kitchen, 
those boisterous and crude jokes, one might fancy oneself in the 
company of a common buffoon in the market ; it is the talk of 



BUTLKR — HUDIBR AS . 



321 



quacks on the bridges, adapting their imagination and language to 
the manners of the beer shop and the hovel. There is filth to be 
met with there ; in short, the rabble will laugh when the mounte- 
bank alludes to the disgusting adts of private life. Such is the gro- 
tesque stuff in which the courtiers of the Restoration delighted; 
their spite and their coarseness took a pleasure in the spe6tacle of 
these bawling puppets ; even now, after two centuries, we hear the 
ribald laughter of this audience of lackeys." 

Occasionally we read a strain of his muse and feel 
its wit and truth. The writers of the day, for instance, 
affecfted a smartness of conceit, a kind of quibbling with 
words. In describing Hudibras's rhetoric, he hits at 
this style in these lines : 

" But when he pleas'd to show't his speech 
In loftiness of sound was rich ; 
A Babylonish dialedl, 
Which learned pedants much afifedl ; 
It was a party colour'd dress 
Of patch 'd and piebald language ; 
Twas English cut on Greek and Latin, 
Like fustian heretofore on satin ; 
It had an odd promiscuous tone. 
As if h' had talk'd three parts in one ; 
Which made some think, when he did gabble, 
Th' had heard three labourers of Babel, 
Or Cerberus himself pronounce 
A leash of languages at once." 

Here and there are scattered among many mean and 
paltry verses some that have become proverbial in the 
language, as when he describes the style of Hudibras's 
logic : 

He could distinguish and divide 

A hair 'twixt south and southwest side. 



ai 



^22 BUTI.ER — HUDIBRAS. 

He'd run in debt by disputation, 
And pay with ratiocination. 

* -J?- * * * * -x- 

And little quarrels often prove 
To be but new recruits of love. 

The satire is written in a short metre that is classed 
as the iambic, or four feet tetrameter. Dean Swift re- 
sorted to it when his style was humorous or indecent 
(the latter most usual) . Scott has admirably adapted 
it to many of his poetical works, and it is the measure 
in which Byron's "Giaour" and "Parisina" are writ- 
ten. But in Hudibras it has acquired favor through its 
jingle more than its style. He twists and deforms 
words to suit the metre with more than a poet's license ; 
even when this expedient is not required by the neces- 
sity of the rhyme. Here are examples : i' th' for in the, 
o' th' for of the, 'ad for had, 'em for them. He suppresses 
a letter in the body of a word, like perilous for perilous, 
b'ing for being. A letter is made to stand for a word, as 
's for his, andy for you. He docks the past participle 
by placing an inverted comma for the e, or ends it with 
a t, as in scorn' d, ransackt. Indeed, he appears to take 
a malicious delight in defacing as well as defiling our 
speech. Many of his low words and vulgarisms cannot 
decently be repeated. His useless contradlions find no 
excuse in the imitations of older styles, and the only 
apology for his ribaldry is the example of some of the 
more dissolute poets of his own time. Dr. Johnson, 
with all his prejudice against the sedlaries, thinks that 
while you may find wit and humor in Hudibras, yet it 
is not to be reckoned a poem. (Boswell, 2d Vol., 306.) 
The conception of the plot is not original, as it is said 



BUTlvKR — HUDIBRAS. 323 

to be founded on "Don Quixote." Its popularity was 
owing to the hatred of the ro3^alists, and the gross bur- 
lesque derived its effecfl from the all powerful impres- 
sion that the Puritans had stamped upon men's minds. 
They had been hated and feared, and these feelings 
were but little softened in the days of Swift and John- 
son. The royalists knew them well in both peace and 
war, and the satire, coming so soon after their downfall, 
seemed like a fitting song to the orgies of their adver- 
saries. All orders of society read it. It was vastly 
popular with every rank, class, and condition of men 
who wished to stand well with the new powers. The 
poets praised it — they were a venal tribe ; and the whole 
flight of panderers and buffoons pounced upon it and 
carried it to where the king was amusing himself with 
the favorite duchess. Buckingham read it aloud, and 
the paltry parasites set up a chorus of applause. The 
ministers employed their time at the council-board in 
repeating its jests for the king's amusement, and began 
to pommel each other and to tear off each other's lace 
collars and periwigs to increase the sport. This extra- 
ordinary admiration has resounded to our own day, and 
has helped to float it on the wave of popular favor. It 
is admired by prescription. 

Perhaps it was not until Macaulay, and Greene, and 
Taine began to write history that the benefits effedled 
by the rebellion of 1640 were clearly understood and 
acknowledged. These benefits were pointed out in the 
form and centre of present civil systems ; and now we 
recognize what the men in that historical upheaval first 
taught, the indispensable privileges of the people, the 
remedies for their violated rights, and the exercise of 



324 



DRYDKN. 



irresponsible power forever denied. Tlie unreasoning 
spirit of conservatism and its faithful companion, 
obstinacy, whicb descended from the cavaliers, have 
been shaken to their depths, and the author who spent 
his life and abilities in deriding and scoffing at the vir- 
tues, the achievements, and the fanaticism, if you will, 
of the Reformers, has ceased to exert an influence de- 
grading to our poetry and debasing to our language. 

Another writer belongs to this class, whose extraor- 
dinary mastery of the difficult art of satire has placed 
him, in the estimation of good judges, at its head. 
Dry den has left us an incomparable model in this kind 
of composition in his "Absalom and Achitophel." Dr. 
Johnson, in his "Lives of the English Poets," says 
of it: 

"If it be considered as a poem, poUtical or controversial, it 
will be found to comprise all the excellences of which the subject 
is susceptible ; acrimony of censure, elegance of praise, artful de- 
lineation of characters, variety and vigor of sentiment, happy turns 
of language, and pleasing harmony of numbers ; and all these raised 
to such a height as can scarcely be found in any other English com- 
position." 

The poem was applied to the political fadlions of that 
day, and to the corrupt men who led and controlled them. 
Among these, conspicuous by his abilities and wicked- 
ness, was Lord Shaftesbury. From a learned and up- 
right Chancellor when he sat on the wool-sack, he 
betrayed every other trust, and tried to succeed through 
crime and conspiracy where his ambition and genius 
had failed. Dryden's delineation of this charadler, 
under the fi(5titious name of Achitophel, is perhaps un- 
matched to this day as an example of personal satire in 



DRYDEN ACHITOPHEIv . 



325 



this or any other language. Notwithstanding the space 
it occupies, I give the passage in full, as an exhibition 
of our mother tongue at the close of the 1 7th century : 

CHARACTER OF SHAFTIJSBURY. 

Of these the false Achitophel was first ; 

A name to all succeeding ages curst ; 

For close designs and crooked counsels fit ; 

Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit ; 

Restless, unfix 'd in principles and place ; 

In power unpleas'd, impatient of disgrace : 

A fiery soul, which, working out its way, 

Fretted the pigmy body to decay, 

And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. 

A daring pilot in extremity ; 

Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high. 

He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit, 

Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. 

Great wits are sure to madness near allied. 

And thin partitions do their bounds divide ; 

Else why should he, with wealth and honour blest. 

Refuse his age the needful hours of rest ? 

Punish a body which he could not please ; 

Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? 

And all to leave what with his toil he won. 

To that unfeather'd two-legged thing, a son ; 

Got, while his soul did huddled notions try, 

And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. 

In friendship false, implacable in hate ; 

Resolv'd to ruin or to rule the state : 

To compass this, the triple bond he broke, 

The pillars of the public safety shook. 

And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke : 

Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting fame. 

Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name. 

So easy still it proves in factious times, 

With public zeal to cancel private crimes ; 



3 26 DRYDKN — ACHlTOPHKIy. 

How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, 

Where none can sin against the people's will ! 

Where crowds can wink, and no offense be known, 

Since in another's guilt they^find their own ! 

Yet fame deserv'd no enemy can grudge ; 

The statesman we abhor, yet praise the judge. 

In Israel's court ne'er sat an Abethdin 

With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean, 

Unbrib'd, unsought, the wretched to redress. 

Swift of dispatch, and easy of access. 

Oh ! had he been content to serve the crown 

With virtues only proper for the gown ; 

Or had the rankness of the soil been freed 

From cockle that oppressed the noble seed ; 

David for him his tuneful harp had strung, 

And heaven had wanted one immortal song. 

But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand ; 

And fortune's ice prefers to virtue's land, 

Achitophel, grown weary to possess 

A lawful fame and lazy happiness. 

Disdain 'd the golden fruit to gather free. 

And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. 

This satire is still read, not only for the subjects it 
treats, but also for the beauty of its language. Its 
style is in perfect accordance with Dean Swift's defini- 
tion of proper words in their proper places ; and it is a 
rare example of the grace and spontaneity with which 
the mind projects its thoughts into speech. The rich- 
ness of our language had become such as to furnish the 
poet with the required forms of expression all ready to 
enter into his verse, and to take their places as if these 
had been marked out in advance. It is interesting to 
note how at that time the ingredients of the Anglo- 
Saxon, Norman- French, and I^atin neologisms had 
developed and coalesced into a veritable progressive and 



VERBAL ANALYSIS. 



327 



powerful Knglish. In proof of this remark I subjoin a 
list of the nouns, verbs, and adjectives that occur in the 
first seventeen lines of the above extract, that are not 
modified in their form or signification at the present 
day, with perhaps a single exception. The nouns from 
the Anglo-Saxon are as follows : 





Nam,e from Nam,a 






Wit 


Witt 






Soul 


Sawel, 0. £. 


Saul 




Way 


Weg 






Body 


' Bodig 






Clay 


Claey 






Waves ' 


Weag 






Sands ' 


Sand 






Storm ' 


* Storm 






Madness ' 


' GemcBd 






Wealth 


0. English 






Pest 


Rest 




Nouns from the I 


French and lyatin 


: 






FRENCH. 


I,ATIN. 


Ages 


from 


Age 


^tas 


Designs 


" 




Signum, 


Counsels 


<< 


Conseil 




Principles 


(( 


Principe 


Principium 


Place 


(( 


Place 




Power 


(( 


Pouvoir 


Posse 


Disgrace 


<( 


Disgrace 




Decay 


" 


Dechoir 


De and Cedere 


Tenement 


a 


Tenement 


Tenementum 


Pilot 


<< 


Pilote 




Extremity 


(( 


Extremite 


Extremitas 


Danger 


" 


Danger 


Dangereum. 


Calm 


(i 


Calm.e 




Partitions 


(( 


Partition 


Partitia 



328 



VKRBAI. ANAI^YSIS. 



Honour " Honneur 




Hours ** Heure Hora 


The verbs from the Anglo-Saxon are as 


follows : 


Was from 


fF^Z5 




Went 


«^^;«^ 




Sought *' 


Secarn 




Steer 


Steoran 




Boast 


Bost, O. E. 




Blest " 


Bletsian 




Verbs from French and I^atin : 






FRENCH. 


I.ATIN. 


Fretted from 


Frettes 


Frictum, 


Informed " 


Informer 


Inform,ere 


Allied 


Allier 


Alligare 


Divide ' ' 




Dividere 


Refuse " 


Refuser 


Recuse 


Adjectives from French and Latin : 






FREINCH. 


I,ATIN. 


False from 




Falsus 


Succeeding ** 




Succedere 


Close 


a^j 


Claudere 


Sagacious ' ' 




Sagacitas 


Turbulent * ' 


Turbulent 


Turbulentus 


Impatient ' ' 


Im,patience 


Impatiens 


Pigmy *' 


Pygmee 


Pygm,ceus 


Adjectives from Anglo-^ 


Saxon : 




Crocked from A>0/^ 




Bold 


Bald 




Restless 


Rest 




Fiery * 


* Fyr 




Daring ' 


' Dearr 




Needless * 


Nead 




7%^« 


* Thynne, 





drydkn's language. 329 

It will be observed that of the words selecfted from 
these few lines, twenty-eight are traced back to French 
and Latin, the latter being derived principally through 
a French medium, and twenty-six are of Saxon origin. 
The articles, pronouns, adverbs, and particles, and aux- 
iliaries are all Saxon, and swell that element to more 
than triple the proportions of French and Latin com- 
bined. This ratio of lingual ingredients probably per- 
vades the entire poem, and as Dry den is acknowledged 
by Dr. Johnson, Brougham, and Macaulay to be the 
most prolific and finest writer of prose, poetry, and criti- 
cism in the last quarter of the 17th century, we may 
reasonably conclude that his words are derived in some- 
what the same unequal portions from the same sources. 
They had all, however, received their Anglican stamp 
in their present form, and are all equally good English. 
Their etymology is no longer obscure, nor their syntax 
irregular. The Latin and Saxon roots are described in 
modern dicflionaries, and Dryden's rich and varied 
vocabulary has the rare faculty of taking on his 
idea, and of responding to the least inspiration of his 
thought. We know very well that the author of the 
ode in honor of St. Cecilia's Day did not himself strike 
out all at once this idiom so beautiful and so marvel- 
ously appropriate to his purpose. The evolution of 
intelligence had gradually formed terms to express its 
thought, until at the time he began to write, English 
words belonged to all orders of ideas and circumstances, 
of feelings, images, and passions. We find that when 
he is most severe, there is an ease and simplicity in 
his use of words that make his invecftive forever memor- 
able, as when he describes the Duke of Buckingham 



330 drydbn's virgii.. 

under the name of Zimri : 

A man so various that he seemed to be 

Not one, but all mankind's epitome ; 

Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong ; 

Was everything by startes, and nothing long ; 

But, in the course of one revolving moon 

Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; 

Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, 

Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. 

When James II. came to the crown Dry den turned 
Roman Catholic, and was continued poet-laureate, but 
upon the abdication of James and the succession of Wil- 
liam III., he was deprived of this post, and also of his 
office as historiographer to the king, and Thomas Shad- 
well was appointed in his place. This was viewed by 
Dryden as a disgrace, and kindled in his soul an impla- 
cable resentment against Shadwell, that he poured forth 
in a poem aimed diredlly at him, called * ' MacFlecknoe. ' ' 
It is the most bitter satire that any age or language has 
produced, and shows that our vocabulary has no equal 
for keen and remorseless invecftive. Probably no mem- 
ory would have preserved the name of Shadwell, or of 
Blkanah I^ittle, had they not become immortal as the 
vidlims of Dryden' s sarcastic verse. However, his ene- 
mies took their revenge, for Dryden affirms more libels 
had been written on him than on any man alive. 

In 1679 Dryden published his translation of Virgil. 
To Gavin Douglas, however, belongs the honor of 
being the author of the first metrical translation of a 
classical writer. His ^neid was completed in 15 14, 
and his success was so marked that he had many imi- 



HIS CHOICE OF WORDS. 



331 



tators; and a few years later Surrey, whom Warton 
considers " the first Knglisli classical poet," and many 
think the first improver of our language after Chaucer, 
translated the third and fourth books of Virgil. This 
work seems to have been suggested by the prior version 
of Douglas, as he frequently copies from it. The critics 
think that Dry den sometimes mistakes this author's 
meaning, and exceeds the license of a translator in order 
to shine as a poet; and his most brilliant passages, 
though not inferior to those of Virgil, are thought to be 
too free and paraphrastical. All admit that his version 
abounds in beauties, that the language is transparent, 
soft, flowing, and melodious, and that he has found it 
sufficient to imitate the delicacies and refinements of the 
ancients. Many passages show Dryden's felicity in 
word painting, especially those detailing the destrudlion 
of the palace of Priam, the death of the king, the com- 
plaint of Queen Dido, and the arrival of ^neas in the 
Elysian Fields. Dry den had an admirable discretion in 
choosing his words, and in the manner of grouping them 
into beautiful combinations, and they have often the 
advantage of not only pleasing the ear but of responding 
to some secret need of the soul. The words come as if 
they had been presented to the mind. Take, for instance, 
the following passage from the ode at Alexander's Feast. 
This has been pronounced the finest lyric composition 
in our language, and perhaps it stands on a par with 
Cowper's, Hill's, and Milton's " Ode on the Nativity." 
Timotheus, b}^ the subtle affinities of music, had in- 
flamed the soul of "Philip's warlike son" with the 
promptings of ambition and love, and then with altered 
tone he sang : 



332 POETIC MEASURES. 

Softly sweet in Lydian measures, 
Soon he sooth 'd his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble, 
Honor but an empty bubble. 
Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still, and still destroying ; 
If the world be worth thy winning. 
Think, O think it worth enjoying. 

Churchill says of Dry den : 

' ' Numbers ennobling numbers in their course 
In varied sweetness flow, in varied force. 
The pow'rs of genius and of judgment join 
And the whole art of poetry is thine." 

Previous to Dry den's time there had been different 
views as to the proper measure for heroic verse in Eng- 
lish. From Marlowe down, however, it had been pretty 
well settled. We know that hexameter was preferred 
by the Greek and Roman poets, and is that in which the 
Iliad and the ^neid are composed. The ancients had, 
besides this, a great variety of rhymes, each composed 
of a certain number of feet, so that the poet could sele(5l 
the one best suited to his theme, as dacftyls and spon- 
dees for the grave subje(5l of an epic, and the anapests 
for a rapid or lively movement. The hexameter con- 
tains the greatest number of syllables that can be pro- 
nounced without taking breath ; beyond that limit the 
voice commences to fail, and perhaps this may be one of 
the reasons why it was preferred to other lines contain- 
ing a greater number of syllables. The epic form of 
verse, with us, is composed of five iambic feet, com- 
monly called the pentameter measure, and consequently 
contains ten syllables. This is the Hue of Shakespeare 



DRYDEN S PROSE. 



333 



and Milton, and is the one adopted by Dry den. It is 
adapted to rli3^me, and is equally suitable for blank 
verse. His satire, unlike that of Hudibras, requires 
dignity and polish, and in this respecft it still allures us 
by the phases of its idiom and the beauty of its style. 
The poet is hopelessly coarse and vulgar when he 
becomes personal, unless he seledls his words with taste 
and composes with art. Perhaps no one ever equaled 
Dryden in combining and choosing the power of terms 
to contribute to the force and pungency of his lines. 
There is the swell of beautiful adjecftives, and the pres- 
eenc of nouns the most expressive, to represent in abstracft 
terms the follies and vices of his contemporaries ; and 
thanks to his iambics, poets like Pope and Thomson, 
of the 1 8th century, and like Scott, Byron, lyongfellow, 
and Tennyson, of the 19th, have experienced no embar- 
rassment in pouring the burning metal of their inspira- 
tions into the mould that had been prepared two hundred 
years before. 

A word should now be spoken of his works in prose, 
for they form an important part of his literary histor>\ 
He was the earliest writer upon the principles that pro- 
duce good writing in English, and he has consequently 
been styled the father of modern criticism. It may 
appear strange that no one had previously explained 
the precepts of English composition, since great authors 
like Bacon and Milton had written apparently in accord- 
ance with established rules. They relied, however, 
upon the inborn power of genius, that taught them the 
fitness of things, and they soared as naturally as the 
eagle in its lofty flight. We witness the same mar- 
velous condition of letters in Greece, where there were 



334 DRYDEN AS CRITIC. 

great authors before Aristotle wrote his treatise on 
Poetry and Rhetoric, and also in Rome before Cicero 
produced his work on the Orator. These celebrated 
men were the earliest critics in their respeiftive coun- 
tries, and yet Plato, the prince of philosophers, pre- 
ceded the first, and Ennius, the father of Roman song, 
the latter. 

In his prose essay on Dramatic Poetry, Dry den 
refers to the fac5l that there was not a living master to 
instrucft him; that even Shakespeare, who created the 
stage, had written happily rather than knowingly or 
justly, and that the art was born in him. This essay 
was first published in 1668, and contains his famous 
argument in favor of rhyme for the stage. In form it is 
a dialogue, professing to imitate conversation, and the 
particular subje(5l is the art of dramatic poesy. There 
are four different charadlers in the piece, who, however, 
were real persons, Dryden being one of them under the 
assumed name of Narcisus. Although he is the main 
person, the others are not mere dummies, brought in to 
set off the principal performer, as we so often witness in 
the theatrical company of a star a(5lor ; but each makes 
his observations, as if he himself were the principal 
chara(5ler, and this is sustained with such integrity to 
the whole that Crites (Sir Robert Howard), who con- 
tends for blank verse, seems to have the best of the 
argument. He puts the sentiments appropriate to each 
speaker in his mouth, and at last gives his own in favor 
of his dodlrine upon the subjedl of rhyme, and his 
objedlions to the methods of the ancients. This part 
of the dialogue assumes the air of a dissertation, but is 
enlivened with sufficient imagination admirably calcu- 



DRYDKN. 



335 



lated to keep up our interest, and lacks nothing but 
metre to make it poetry. The reasons in favor of blank 
verse are expressed by Crites^ who is supposed to be Sir 
Robert Howard, a poet, and brother-in-law of Dryden. 
In 1668 Sir Robert brought out his traged}^ of the 
"Duke of Serma, or the Great Favorite," and prefixed 
to it some remarks against rhyming in the Knglish 
drama. In expressing his thoughts he not only differed 
from the renowned author of the essay on Dramatic 
Poetry, but his observations must have been distin- 
guished by a tone peculiarly offensive to Dryden, for in 
a short time he came out with his celebrated " Defense " 
of his former essay, of which Sir Walter Scott says: 
"It is worthy of preservation, as it would be difficult to 
point out deeper contempt and irony couched under lan- 
guage as temperate, cold, and outwardly respedlful." 

In the dedication of his play of the " Rival Ladies," 
in 1663, Dryden earnestly defends rhyme as the proper 
measure for the poetical drama, and to sustain his posi- 
tion by authority, he refers to the tragedy of " Queen 
Gorboduc," which belonged to the time of Elizabeth, 
as being in rhyme. The reference is unfortunate, for 
that play is in blank verse, except the choruses, which 
are in stanzas. He is equally unfortunate in saying 
that Shakespeare invented blank verse to shun the pains 
of continual rhyming, for Marlowe used blank verse 
before the days of Shakespeare. No poet of that day 
exceeded Dryden in the multiplicity of his plays, and 
this is to be ascribed to his necessities. He had to 
write them or starve ; but he debased his genius to the 
vitiated taste of the scum and dregs of society. His 
poverty was aggravated by the reproach of abusing 



336 DRYDKN. 

the greatness of his talents for the parasites of wicked- 
ness and folly. With the exception of but a few scenes, 
his dramas are disfigured by double -entendre and display 
the most disgusting scenes taken from private life. 
They were all in rhyme until a late period of his life, 
when he gave it up; but his most ingenious prose 
writings were devoted to its defense. It must be agreed 
that rhyme is now a matter of little consequence in the 
views that prevail, for it has long ceased to deserve the 
name of controversy. As early as 1676, or about ten 
years after his Defense, he confesses that he has 
grown weary of his long-loved mistress, rhyme. In the 
Prologue of his play of " Aureng Zebe," which he 
brought out that year, he bids her farewell in the follow- 
ing lines, and he used blank verse always in his subse- 
quent dramas : 

"And to confess the truth, though out of time 
Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, rhyme, 
Passions too fierce to be in fetters bound, 
And Nature flics him, like enchanted ground. 
What verse can do, he has performed in this, 
Which he presumes the most corre6l of his ; 
But spite of all his pride, a secret shame 
luvades his breast at Shakespeare's sacred name. 
Awed when he hears his god-like Romans rage. 
He in a just despair would quit the stage. 
And to an age less polished, more unskilled 
Does with disdain the foremost honours yield." 

Of Dryden's vigorous English .style, there are in- 
stances on almost every page of his prose, of which I 
shall assign only a few examples; not that they are the 
best that might be chosen to illustrate his rare skill, but 
they are those that most coincide with the subje<5t of 



DRYDEN. 337 

this book. The quotations are from vSir Walter Scott's 
colledlion of his entire works. In speaking of one of 
his patrons wlio had written a poem, he says : 

" You equal Donne in the variety, multiplicity, rmd choice of 
thoughts ; you excel him in the manner and the words. He affec^ts 
the metaphysics, not only in his satire l)ut in his amourous verses, 
where nature should reign ; and perplexes the mind of the fair sex 
with nice speculations. In this Mr. Cowley has copied him to a 
fault." (Vor.. II., p. 8.) 

In regard to Spenser and Milton, he has the follow- 
ing : 

"And though, perhaps, the love of their masters may have trans- 
ported both too far in the frequent use of them, yet in my opinion 
obsolete words may thus be laudably revived, when either they are 
more sounding, or more significant than those in pra(5lice, and 
when their security is taken away by joining other words to them 
which clear the sense, according to the rule of Horace for the admis- 
sion of new words, but in both cases a moderation is to be observed 
in the use of them, for unnecessary coinage, as well as unnecessary 
revival, runs into affedtation , a fault to be avoided on either hand." 

Although he often expresses admiration for Spenser 
and Milton, he has a grudging and .sparing way when 
referring to their transcendent works. Here is some- 
thing in the same spirit : 

" That the sweetness of English verse was never understood or 
practiced by our fathers, even Criles docs not much o})pose it; and 
every one was willing to acknowledge how much our poetry is 
improved by the happiness of some writers yet living, who first 
taught us to mould our thoughts into easy and significant words, to 
retrench the superfluities of expression, and to make our rhyme as 
properly a part of the sense, that it should never mislead the sense, 
but itself be led and governed by it." (Voi,. xv., p. 301.) 

22 



33^ DRYDKN. 

And again : 

" Wit is best conveyed to us in the most easy language, and is 
most to be admired when a great thought comes dressed in words 
so commonly received, that it is understood by the meanest appre- 
hension, as the best meat is the most easily digested." (Id. 320.) 

In Speaking of Cleveland : 

** We cannot read a verse of his without making a face at it, as if 
every word were a pill to swallow. There is this difference betwixt 
his satire and Dodlor Donne's, that the one gives us deep thoughts 
in common language, though rough cadence, the other gives us 
common thoughts in abstruse words. ' ' 

Of Beaumont and Fletcher : 

" I believe the English language in them arrived at the highest 
perfedlion ; what words have since been taken in are rather super- 
fluous than ornamental." (Id. 352.) 

And of Jonson : 

"If there is any fault in his language, it was that he weaved it 
too closely and laboriously in his comedies ; perhaps, too, he did a 
little too much Romanize our terms, leaving the words which he 
translated almost as much I^atin as he found them, wherein though 
he learnedly followed their language, he did not enough comply 
with the idiom of ours." (Id. 353.) 

"Our language is noble, full, and significant, and I know not 
why he who is master of it may not clothe ordinary things in it as 
decently as in the Latin, if he use the same diligence in his choice 
of words. If Seneca could make an ordinary theme sound well in 
Latin by the choice of words, the same with the like care might be 
performed in English." (Id. 272.) 

His ideas on the subjedl of translating are expressed 
in his Essay on Satire, prefixed to the translation of 
** Juvenal and Persius," and I believe his theory has 
been generally adopted by others. He saj^s : 

' ' The common way we have taken is not a literal translation, but 
a kind of paraphrase or some what which is yet more loose be- 



DRYDEN. 339 

twixt a paraphrase and imitation. It was not possible for us, or 
any men, to have made it pleasant any other way, not in render- 
ing the exact sense of these authors almost line for line. A noble 
author should not be pursued too close by a translator. We lose 
his spirit when we think to take his body ; the grosser part remains 
^with us, but the soul has flown away in some noble expression, or 
some delicate turn of words or thought. We make our author 
appear in poetic dress. We have actually made him appear more 
sounding and more elegant than he was before in English, and 
have endeavored to make him speak that kind of English which he 
would have spoken had he lived in England, and had written in 
this age." 

These examples will, perhaps, suffice to afford us the 
means of forming an estimate of his art in composition. 
He found our language "noble, full, and significant," 
but it had not yet attained the easy grace and flow of 
familiar intercourse in its written strudlure. This re- 
finement, which is the charm of conversation, we first 
find in his verse, as well as in his prose. His idiom in 
the familiar use of words was destined to be carried to 
the greatest perfedlion by Addison and Swift in the suc- 
ceeding centur}^ and his adaptations of poetical terms of 
almost every kind that were purely English were pretty 
much the same as those that adorned the smooth and 
labored lines of Pope, and Cowper, and Goldsmith. 
Indeed, it would be difficult to overestimate the bene- 
fits he has conferred upon our language. I close my 
remarks on Dryden by giving an extradl from Dr. 
Beattie's opinion of his genius: 

' ' There is no modern writer whose style is more distinguish- 
able. Energy and ease are its chief characters. The former is 
owing to a happy choice of expressions, equally emphatical and 
plain ; the latter to a laudable partiality in favor of the idioms and 
radical words of the English tongue, the native richness and pecu- 



34^ DRYDEN. 

liar genius whereof are perhaps more apparent in him than in any 
other of our poets. In Dryden's more correct pieces we meet with 
no affectation of words of Greek or Latin etymology, no cumber- 
some pomp of epithets, no drawling circumlocutions, no idle glare 
of images, no blundering round about a meaning ; his English is 
pure and simple, nervous and clear, to a degree which Pope has 
never exceeded and not always equaled." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

MODERN ENGLISH— CONTINUED. 



I. 


Court Writers of the Resto- 


5. John Locke. 




ration. 


6. Jeremy Taylor. 


2. 


Richard Baxter. 


7. Bishop Hall, and Other Di- 


3- 


Izaak Walton. 


vines of the 17th Cen- 


4- 


John Bunyan. 


tury. 



These Writers Connected by Critical and Biographical Remarks. 

Thk 1 7th century has transmitted to us voluminous 
legacies of books and manuscripts far beyond those of 
any former period. A very complete knowledge of the 
resources of our language was developed, but, unfortu- 
nately, the poets and most of the writers who succeeded 
to the Restoration threw off even appearance of respecfl 
for virtue or purity, and drew their scenes and charac5lers 
from the province of vice and debauchery. "They un- 
derstood their own charadler better than it was under- 
stood by their successors. They called themselves wits 
instead of poets, and wits they wxre ; the difference is not 
in degree, but in kind. They succeeded in what they 
aimed at — in satire and in panegyric, in ridiculing an 
enemy and in flattering a friend, in turning a song and 
in complimenting a lady, in pointing an epigram and in 
telling a lewd tale ; in these branches of literary art — 



342 WRITERS OF THE RESTORATION. 

the Birmingham trade of verse — they have rarely been 
surpassed." 

In the stru(5lure of their language, however, there 
are few archaic forms of speech. I^atin had ceased to 
be the language of literature, and the writers cultivated 
an observance of the niceties of expression and a smooth- 
ness of style that is usually ascribed by the historians of 
Knglish literature to the influence of French models, 
that followed Charles II. on his return from that coun- 
try, where he had passed a great portion of his exile. 
Unfortunately, good English and elegant phraseology 
were esteemed of more importance than a compliance 
with the claims of public decency, or a conformity with 
the moral law. Kven Dry den was not free from re- 
proach. His comedies are horribly full of double-en- 
tendre, and in his declining years he regretted his fault. 

Perhaps it is hardly necessary to say that a book or a 
literature without virtue and without morals is not more 
likely to gain the lasting esteem of posterity than is a 
vicious and depraved individual; and in each case a 
similarity of future forgetfulness and disfavor hangs 
over them at every step of human progress. The cor- 
rupt manners of the times, or the accidental circum- 
stances of the man or the subjecft, may bias and cloud 
the discrimination of contemporaries, but these seldom, 
if ever, extend their influence beyond the present. The 
living principle which the Supreme Benevolence has 
formed us all to feel in our moral nature, will sooner or 
later consign works of this kind to the oblivion they 
deserve. Such has been- the fate of the class of writ- 
ings alluded to, and the ostentatious display of de- 
pravity which is so thickly sown in the midst of their 



WRITERS OF THE RESTORATION. 343 

graces has been richly harvested in the almost total 
want of favor with which they are now regarded. They 
have lost their place in our literature. 

Though the great bod}^ of those who wrote pam- 
phlets, plays, and satires were contaminated with the 
licentiousness of the age, there were many and grand 
exceptions. Temple, Browne, and Dr3^den have already 
been mentioned. Newton placed astronomy upon an 
unerring basis, and unfolded its laws by the adoption 
of a new calculus to aid the theorems of the ancient 
geometers. The learning of ancient authors, restored 
by the scholars of the previous generation, was made 
applicable to English forms as far as pradlicable, and 
much refinement was thereby added to the native idiom ; 
the printing press, colleague of speech, presented its 
wings to intelligence, and books began to enter the 
famil}^ circle and cheer the dom^estic hearth, and from 
this epoch also sprang a poem that is the glor}^ of the 
English tongue. There was no end of books and pam- 
phlets on current politics, on practical religion, and 
controversial theology. It is said that Richard Baxter 
wrote more than one hundred and twenty volumes, and 
more than two hundred different works, which, for 
variety of matter, would make a library of theology and 
politics. His political works, with those of Milton, 
were burned in the court of the schools of the Univer- 
sity of Oxford on the very day that the noble and gen- 
erous I^ord William Russell was put to death. Many 
others wrote volumes of history, poetry, sermons, and 
miscellaneous subjedls. Perhaps nothing has ever been 
superior to the ' ' Complete Angler, or the Recreations 
of a Contemplative Man," in the clearness and sim- 



344 IZAAK WAI^TON. 

plicity of its style, and in a sincere love of all that was 
good and honorable. It is still a very popular book, as 
if it described the life and employed the language of 
our own day. It is the image of a pure nature, that 
believes in virtue, in morality, and religion. Every- 
body knows that Izaak Walton is the author of this 
charming, amusing, and unsullied work. Among his 
friends were the best men of the century, many of whose 
biographies he composed as a work of love. Indeed, his 
name is a household word for everything that is sweet 
and pure in human characfler. He is distinguished for 
a style of composition without affedlation or the artifice 
of authorship. A simple-hearted writer of plain Eng- 
lish, he says of himself : "I would rather prove myself 
a gentleman by being learned and humble, valiant and 
inoffensive, virtuous and communicable, than by fond 
ostentation of riches, or wanting these virtues myself, 
boasting these were in my ancestors ; and yet I grant 
that where a noble and ancient descent and such vir- 
tues meet in any man, it is double dignification of the 
person." 

In the British Angler (1740), by J. Williamson, he 
is spoken of thus : 

" His style flows on like a gentle brook, itself a parable of the 
quiet spirit it teaches." "His own simple, homebred English 
style." " His language has blemishes no doubt, but what would 
be awkwardness in others has in him a graceful quaintness, nor 
could a fault be amended without marring a beauty. * * This 
art (English writing) seems to have arrived at its highest perfection 
at once, and to have been the same in Mr. Walton as that of poetry 
in Homer. The improvements that are made by later writers are 
so few, and for the most part so trivial, that I could not but wonder 
at seeing so much done to so little purpose. ' ' 



JOHN BUNYAN. 345 

Some of his words are new, as dignification , mixtion, 
which are becoming obsolete, and willing er, which did 
not stay. He says, " Good company in a journey makes 
the way to seem the shorter." In his day the preposi- 
tion to was alwaj^s inserted after the verb make to gov- 
ern the infinitive. Now it is omitted. He gives a 
curious bit of etymology of the word lie. The words of 
Sir Henry Walton, that an ambassador was an honest 
man sent to lie abroad for the good of his countr>% 
got him into some trouble. Walton was his biog- 
rapher, and explains that the word lie at that time had 
a double meaning, signifying to sojourn or ti^avel, as well 
as to utter a falsehood. With us it means a willful vio- 
lation of truth. Walton died when upwards of ninety 
years old, and no one except B3'ron has ever spoken 
unkindly of him. (Notes to 13th Canto of Don Juan.) 

Another writer of the most original genius belongs 
to the same period, John Bunyan. His history is per- 
haps the most extraordinary in our literature. Mackin- 
tosh places him at the head of unlettered men of genius.* 
The son of a tinker, he followed the same calling in 
early life. He had been a Baptist preacher for five 
years, when, within a few months after the Restoration, 
he was thrown into Bedford jail for condudling the relig- 
ious exercises of his se(5l, which had been prohibited by 
the cruel a(5l of Parliament against conventicles. Here, 
we are informed, he remained for twelve 3^ears confined 
in a close room, and here, also, with little or no advan- 
tage from education or reading, and upon such scraps 
of paper as came to his hand, he commenced to wTite a 
work that stands without a rival in its popularitj^ and in 



* Mackintosh ; Revolution, p. 283. 



34^ JOHN BUNYAN. 

the sympathies of the great majority of those who speak 
the same idiom. He describes the origin and progress 
of the work in some amusing verses prefixed to his 
Holy War, which I transcribe as an example of his 
poetry, which is more like prose : 

" Some say the Pilgrim's Progress is not mine, 
Insinuating as if I would shine 
In name and fame by the worth of another, 
Ivike some made rich by robbing their brother ; 
Or, that so fond I am of being sire, 
I'll father bastards; or, if need require, 
I'll tell a lie in print to get applause. 
I scorn it ; John such dirt-heap never was 
Since God converted him. lyct this suffice 
To show why I my Pilgrim patronize. 
It came from mine own heart, so to my head, 
And thence into my fingers trickled ; 
Then to my pen from whence immediate!)' 
On paper I did dribble it daintily. 
Manner and matter, too, was all mine own, 
Nor was it unto any mortal known 
Till I had done it, nor did any then, 
By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen. 
Add five words to it, or write half a line 
Thereof; the whole and every whit is mine." 

The religious ardor of the 17th century presents 
many irrational affedlations, which we would now attrib- 
ute to the most audacious quackery, or at best to the 
lunacy of a believer. lyarge numbers of those who pre- 
tended to attach themselves to the non-conformists were 
justly odious and ridiculous, from their Oriental type of 
phraseolog}^ which was supposed to diffuse the odors of 
san(5lity upon the saints who adopted it. Not a few of 
them were mainly anxious to fix the precise moment of 



JOHN BUNYAN. 347 

their conversion, or new birth, for whoever could not 
asseverate the very instant of his regeneration by the 
town clock was considered as having a weak and uncer- 
tain visitation of the spirit. On one occasion a soldier 
entered a place of worship with a lighted lantern in one 
hand and a pocket Bible in the other, and requested the 
preacher to be silent and listen to a message he brought 
from Heaven. The preacher informed him that he was 
just delivering such a message himself. Upon being 
put out of the church, he declared to a crowd collecfled 
outside that he had witnessed a vision in which he had 
received a command from God, to deliver His will to 
them, which they were to receive under pain of eternal 
damnation ; and he then proceeded to deliver a new 
revelation, much of which would now pass for blas- 
phemy. Not only were time-honored games and festi- 
vals relinquished, but minced pies and plum puddings 
were reputed profane and abominable viands on Christ- 
mas.* 

It was under such influences that Bunyan passed his 
boyhood. His impressible nature was not only touched 
b}^ sensible images, but was also deeply moved by psy- 
chological environments. A frenzy of spiritual anarchy 
infedled his whole consciousness. He was assailed with 
the terrors of the lost. He heard voices in the air. 
The w^orld of spirits was a reality to him. Demons 
jeered at his anguish, and almost compelled him to utter 
profane and blasphemous language in his devotions. 
Sitting in the open-street, he exclaimed, '* I am gone and 
lost." When playing on the village green, a voice tells 
him that unless he abandons the sinful sport his soul .is 

* Reference to foot-note Hudibras. Con. i, p. 22. 



34^ JOHN BUNYAN. 

doomed to hell. He gives that up, and also surrenders 
the ringing of the church bells, under the persuasion 
that it is a sinful indulgence, and afterwards when pres- 
ent in the same place to hear the favorite sound of the 
bell, he hastens away under the dreadful terror that it 
will fall upon him and crush him for his sins. He con- 
templated the supernatural omens with a credulity as 
abje(5l as the fetish worship of an aboriginal. He prays 
for a ray of heavenly light upon the dark valley into 
which he is plunged ; but the evil ones are about him 
with the license of pandemonium. Despair, anguish, 
self-depression, and the fear of a dreadful hereafter, com- 
bined, transform this imaginative and sensitive soul into 
a whirlwind of fiery passions. His groans for mercy, 
the baleful visions and mutterings that disturb his mid- 
night dreams and trouble his morning slumbers, his 
deathlike paleness, his haggard features during the 
period of his conversion, impart to this portion of his 
life and sufferings almost the majesty of martyrdom. 
He surrenders his personal associates and boon compan- 
ions, and abandons his dancing and athletic sports upon 
the village green out of an equivocal respe(5l for the 
grim-visaged austerity of the day, and considers him- 
self little more godly than Apollyon, or any other of 
the incarnations of evil that he has symbolized in his 
masterpiece. No doubt they were all the refiedlions of 
his own experience. 

"One morning," he writes, "as I lay in ni}' bed, I was most 
fiercely assaulted with this temptation to sell and part with Christ, 
the wicked suggestion still running in my mind, 'Sell him, sell 
him, sell him ! ' as fast as a man could speak, against which also in 
my mind, as at other times, I answered, ' No, no, not for thou- 



JOHN BUNYAN. 349 

sands, thousands, thousands,' at least twenty times together; but 
at last after much striving, I felt this thought pass in my mind, 
'Let him go if he will,' and I thought also that I felt my heart 
freely consent thereto. Oh, the diligence of Satan ! Oh, the des- 
perateness of man's heart ! ' ' 

But he often experienced an opposite state of mind 
when he realized and believed in the immediate presence 
of the Lord. 

"At another time as I sat by the fire in my house, and musing 
on my wretchedness, the Lord made that also a precious word unto 
me, 'He hath made peace by the blood of his cross.' I thought 
that the glory of these words was then so weighty on me, that I 
was both once and twice ready to swoon as I sat ; yet not with grief 
and trouble, but with solid joy and peace." 

The power of belief acting on a sensitive nature and 
a vivid imagination, gives a name and local habitation 
to the terrors and illusions of the mind, and the soul of 
the visionary sinks to the gloomy horror of eternal 
damnation, or is stimulated by the exquisite delights of 
God's free grace and pardon. 

Essentially Bunyan was subjedl to the worldly inter- 
ests that naturally claimed his daily attention. He had 
married a young woman whose whole property consisted 
of two books, "The Practice of Piety," and the '* Plain 
Man's Pathway to Heaven." He and his wife read 
them together, she doing most of the reading as he had 
almost forgotten the way — he had looked at no books 
for years. The latter of these proved the king's high- 
way to Bunyan, for it put him to thinking. But he 
was a father as well as a husband, and the care for the 
support of his family reacted upon his tender and ardent 
nature, and he filled up the time of his imprisonment by 



35^ JOHN BUNYAN — PILGRIM'S PROGRKSS. 

making tagged laces to help them, besides preaching to 
his fellow prisoners, and beginning the work by which 
he has immortalized himself. 

Apart from these influences, his sincerity, his pro- 
found reverence for the word of God, and the progress 
of divine grace in his soul, at length brought relief, and 
the dominion of the elect was no longer a boundary hor- 
izon beyond which he could not aspire to see. From 
that time the peace of God marked the staid decorum 
with which he observed religious rites, and practiced 
the precepts which he inculcated upon others. 

That such a man has left us a model in the 
English tongue throws a warm interest upon his biog- 
raphy and its incidents. The idiom in which the 
obscure Anabaptist composed his Pilgrim's Progress has 
to this day lost little of its originality. Its success can- 
not be attributed to a flow of classic polysyllables, for he 
knew nothing of them, nor yet to the plodding English 
of the Roundheads, who were so fond of sesquipedalian 
appellations borrowed from the Old Testament, like 
Habakkuk, Boanerges, and Zerobabel. And yet his 
language is singularly idiomatic and full of meaning to 
his co-religionists. It is free from those inaccuracies 
and grammatical solecisms which we might expedl in 
the writings of a person who was so little indebted to 
an early education, and who was deprived of access to 
books during the period of composition. He writes 
plain, straightforward English, and in a spirit of vigor 
and manliness that can never be attained by mere arti- 
fice, while the many proofs he gives of thoughts and 
genuine feelings, after the paroxysms of his conversion 
had passed away, indicate a truly devotional spirit, and 



JOHN BUNYAN — PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 35 I 

a degree of invention and spontaneous ability for com- 
position that is very wonderful. 

It is estimated that ninety-three per cent, of his 
vocabulary is of Saxon derivation. Indeed, it may be 
said that Bunyan though not a linguist has concen- 
trated the native idiom of our tongue, and will probably 
continue to be the prime standard of its simple force 
and beauty. No rival genius has been equal to imitate 
or degrade his affluent and pidluresque didlion. His 
figurative tpyes and imager3^ had a singular charm for 
the Puritan imagination. The story is the history of 
man in his progress to redemption under the form of 
allegory, and in their moments of relaxation, in the 
midst of the affe(5lions of home and fireside, its scriptural 
metaphors and quaint and sober witticisms were read 
;for edification and amusement. The persecution exhib- 
ited in the treatment of Christian and Faithful in the 
City of Vanity Fair was a farcical travest}^ of the 
judicial proceedings against the dissenters in England. 
Judge Hate Good presides at the trial of the Pilgrims 
and instrudls the jury in the law, that "There was an 
a(5l made in the days of Pharaoh the Great, that lest 
those of a contrary religion should multiply and grow 
too strong for him, their males should be thrown into 
the river. There was an act also made in the days of 
Nebuchadnezzar the Great, that whoever would not fall 
down and worship his golden image, should be thrown 
into the fierj^ furnace. There was also an a(ft made in 
the days of Darius, that whoso for some time called 
upon any God but him should be cast into the lions' 
den. Now the substance of these laws this rebel has 
broken, not only in thought (which is not to be borne). 



352 JOHN BUNYAN — PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

but also in word and deed, which must, therefore, needs 
be intolerable." Faithful \s condemned and executed, 
but Christian escapes. What a tincfture of irony in the 
names of the witnesses, Envy, Superstition, and Pick- 
think! And what a comical masque in those of the 
jurors: Mr. Blindman, the foreman, sees clearly that 
the man is a heretic; Mr. No Good wants the fellow 
away from the earth ; Mr. Malice hates the very looks 
of him ; Mr. Love-lust could not endure him ; Mr. Live- 
loose is of the same opinion ; ' ' hang him, ' ' says Mr. Heady; 
"he's a sorry scrub," says Mr. High-mind ; " my heart 
rises against him, ' ' says Mr. Enmity; " he is a rogue, ' ' says 
Mr. Liar ; ' ' hanging is too good for him, ' ' says Mr. Cru- 
elty; ' ' let us dispatch him out of the way, ' ' says Mr. Hate- 
light. ' ' Then , ' ' said Mr. Implacable, ' ' might I have all the 
world given me, I could not be reconciled to him ; there- 
fore, let us forthwith bring him in guilty of death. ' ' Any 
one can imagine the grim satisfacflion of the sectaries at 
seeing their oppressors held up under such odious 
appellations to the scorn and ridicule of mankind in a 
work so universally popular. 

I shall give but one more example of his style, in 
which Bunyan expresses some admirable ethical views 
upon the subjecft of profession and pradlice. It is a dia- 
logue between Faithful and Christian : 

Faithful — "Well, I see that saying and doing are two things, 
and hereafter I shall better observe this distindlion." 

Christian — "They are two things, indeed, and are as diverse 
as are the soul and body ; for as the body without the soul is but a 
dead carcass, so saying, if it be alone, is but a dead carcass also. 
The soul of religion is the pra6lical part ; pure religion and unde- 
filed before God and the Father is this, ' to visit the fatherless and 
widows in their afflidlion, and to keep himself unspotted from the 



BUNYAN — PIIvGRIM'S PROGRESS. 353 

world.' This Talkative is not aware of; he thinks that hearing 
and saying will make a good Christian ; and thus he deceiveth his 
own soul. Hearing is but as the sowing of the seed ; talking is not 
sufficient to prove that fruit is, indeed, in the heart and life; and 
let us assure ourselves that at the day of doom men shall be judged 
according to their fruits ; it will not be said then, ' Did you be- 
lieve?' but 'Were you doers, or talkers only?' and accordingly 
shall they be judged. ' ' 

This fine piece of homage to the beauty of good 
works is as different from the loose morality of con- 
temporary writers as it is from their affecfted wit, their 
puerile rhetoric, and the false taste that debased both 
prose and poetry; and it is singular that, after Dryden, 
the despised Anabaptist should be among the first to 
bring back the purity and simplicity of our tongue. 
Whether he describes the dangers and conflicts of his 
Pilgrim, or the fundamental truths of religion, or the 
glories of the Celestial City, there is something peculiar 
in the simple and racy English with which he capti- 
vates the mind of the reader, who feels that he is learn- 
ing something, and never grows tired of the charm. 
The dissenters read the book because it was an image 
of their own experience. It was the offspring of the 
overwhelming religious idea that then absorbed innu- 
merable multitudes of the English people. lyike good 
Christian, they had fled from the City of Destru(5lion, 
had been swallowed up in the Slough of Despond, had 
climbed the Hill of Difficulty, and descended into the 
Valley of Humiliation, and passed through the Valley 
of the Shadow of Death, where the Mouth of Hell was 
close to the road. The coincidences, the presages, the 
visions, the dreadful apparitions, and the fearful con- 
tests with Apollyon ; the glory of the Dele(5lable Mount- 

23 



354 JOHN I.OCKE. 

ains, and of the I^and of Beulah, where roses and 
myrtles bloom unchilled on the verge of sloping hills, 
and the veil of the Celestial City being drawn aside, the 
dreamer at last beholds the golden pavements and the 
white-robed angels in the paradise of God; this sin- 
gular mixture of unrestrained imagination and spiritual 
thought was like the bread of life. Not in all literature 
was there a book that inspired more unconquerable 
respedl. In the homes of common folk it was placed 
on the same shelf with the family Bible, and not unfre- 
quently beside the Book of Common Prayer. Its 
peculiar idiom passed current among "tinkers, me- 
chanics, sailors, and servant girls," but in the course 
of a few years it conquered the praise of scholars, and 
is equally appreciated by their most enlightened descend- 
ants of the present day. The following note, written by 
Coleridge, was found upon a blank leaf of a printed copy 
of Pilgrim's Progress : 

" I know of no book, the Bible excepted as above all compari- 
son, which I, according to my judgment and experience, could so 
safely recommend as teaching and enforcing the whole saving truth 
according to the mind that was in Christ Jesus, as the Pilgrim's Pro- 
gress. It is, in my convidlion, incomparably the best summa theo- 
logies evangelic£S ever produced by a writer not miraculously in- 
spired." 

It would, perhaps, be amiss to negledl another emi- 
nent writer and scholar in the time of Dry den, who also 
wrote in a plain and distindl style for very different sub- 
je<fts and classes of thought. The profound and expan- 
sive mind of John lyocke aimed at an easy mode of com- 
position, laying aside the involved style of former writers. 
His sentences are short and clear. No affectation of long 



DIVINKS OF THK 17TH CENTURY. 355 

periods, no superficial strains after pompous language ; 
and no. one knew better than lie the power of a word put 
in its place. He pradliced upon the idea that the sim- 
plest expression is the most felicitous. 

Among the divines of the 1 7th century were some of 
the most eminent scholars and finest writers of our lan- 
guage. Two of the greatest men of the period — Hall 
and Taylor — illustrate the pulpit eloquence peculiar to 
the time. It is full of learning, of Greek and lyatin, and 
Scriptural texts ; but it is also redundant with striking 
and tender thoughts, and flows forth with a copiousness 
and exuberance of splendid English that is unrivaled 
in modern preaching. " I shall not crave leave," says 
Jeremy Taylor, 

"that I may remember Jerusalem, and call to mind the pleasures 
of the temple, the order of her services, the beauty of her buildings, 
the sweetness of her songs, the decencies of her ministrations, the 
assiduity and economy of her priests and Levites, the daily sacrifice, 
and that eternal fire of devotion that went not out by day nor by 
night ; these were the pleasures of our peace, and there is a rema- 
nent felicity in the very memory of those spiritual delights, which 
we then enjoyed as antepasts of heaven and consignations to an 
immortality of joys." 

And Bishop Hall in his celebrated sermon preached 
at St. Paul's, 1609, on the '' Passion of Our Saviour," 
brings the sufferings of the cross to the heart and con- 
science of his hearers : 

* * Which of his senses now was not a window to let in sorrow ? 
His eyes saw the tears of his mother and friends, the unthankful 
demeanor of mankind, the cruel despite of his enemies ; his ears 
heard the revilings and blasphemies of the multitude ; and, whether 
the place were noisome to his scent, his touch felt the nails, his 
taste the gall. Look up, O all ye beholders, look upon this precious 



35^ TAYI^OR — HAIyl,. 

body, and see what part you can find free. That head, which is 
adored and trembled at by the angelical spirits, is all raked and har- 
rowed with thorns ; that face, of whom it is said, * Thou art fairer 
than the children of men,' is all besmeared with the filthy spit- 
tle of the Jews, and furrowed with His tears ; those eyes, clearer 
than the sun, are darkened with the shadow of death ; those ears, 
that hear the heavenly comforts of angels, now are filled with the 
cursed speakings and scoffs of wretched men ; those lips, that 
* spake as never man spake,' that command the spirits both of light 
and darkness, are scornfully wet with vinegar and gall ; those feet 
that trample on all the powers of hell — ' his enemies are made his 
footstool ' — are now nailed to the footstool of the cross ; those hands, 
that freely sway the sceptre of the heavens, now carry the reed of 
reproach, and are nailed to the tree of reproach ; that whole 
body, which was conceived by the Holy Ghost, was all scourged, 
wounded, mangled. This is the outside of his sufferings. Was 
his heart free ? Oh, no ; the inner part or soul of this pain, 
which was unseen, is as far beyond these outward and sensible, 
as the soul is beyond the body, God's wrath beyond the malice of 
men." 

The words consignation and remanent in the extradl 
from Taylor are already obsolete, and are now repre- 
sented by other and better ones. It was doubtless the 
use of such terms that drew forth this disdainful remon- 
strance from Dean Swift : 

*'I defy the greatest divine," he says, "to produce any law 
which obliges me to comprehend the meaning of ommscience, omni- 
presence , ubiquity y attribute, beatific vision, with a thousand others 
so frequent in pulpits, any more than that of eccentric, idiosyncrasy, 
entity, and the like." 

We notice, also, how gracefully Hall introduces the 
relative pronoun that in a series of clauses instead of 
the pronoun which. 

It was an age of religious controversy, and the 
ministers of the Church of England were called upon to 



11 



OTHER DIVINKS. 357 

defend their system against the acutest Catholic writers, 
and a host of non-conformists of every kind, who were 
almost their equals, if not their superiors, in popular elo- 
quence. The times required theological exposition and 
sound reasoning in matters of dispute. Every word was 
open to attack, and needed to be weighed ; and above all 
it was necessary to say just what was enough to give a 
clear idea of the subje(5l. Preaching was, therefore, 
condudled with precision ; it was clear and distindl. 

"The wonder of the world is the clergy of England," exclaims 
Bishop Hall ; " so many learned divines, so many eloquent preach- 
ers shall in vain be sought elsewhere this day in whatever region 
under the cope of heaven." 

The sermons of Tillotson and Jewell, of Usher and 
Bramhall, and Barrow and Stillingfleet, and fifty more 
besides, are models, filled with figurative language, 
severe logic, powerful arguments. They were bold and 
pathetic, and sometimes solemn and sublime. I do not 
dwell upon their defe(5ls, the perplexing digressions 
and diffusiveness that drew out the discourses to an 
intolerable length. But wheat has its chaff and gold its 
dust ; let the chaff and the dust go, and we are still pre- 
sented with a rich and powerful flow of pure English. If to 
convince the intelle(5l and compel the assent of the reason 
were the sole objedl of preaching, an artificial vocabulary 
would suffice ; but to awaken the conscience, to recall 
the scattered thoughts of the foolish and the careless, to 
excite the affections, to rouse the deadened heart, to 
comfort the afflidled, to search into the carnal temper 
of the soul, these are best moved by Saxon words. 
When a house is on fire you do not make use of grand 
words, but cry out, Fire! Fire! So the old preachers 



35^ POI.ISHKD FORM OF KNGI^ISH. 

Spoke of these tremendous themes in the strong vernacu- 
lar of their fathers, and made it the model and standard 
of pulpit compositions. 

Thus by the labors of centuries and a long succession 
of thinkers and writers who had, perhaps blindly and 
unconsciously, in their different ways, adled to the same 
end, our language at the close of the 17th century had 
been polished and its words moulded to express every 
variety of thought. It had a notable tendency even in 
the days of Milton to pass the adjedlive into the substan- 
tive and the substantive into the verb. This was a 
great convenience, generally, especially in expressing 
the poetical spirit of ideas. There was scarcely a vestige 
of the lyatin or Anglo-Saxon declensions. Kven the 
genitive case, which by a special gift of longevity had 
lingered so long, was superseded by the sign of the pos- 
sessive, and lyatin words were incorporated without the 
I<atin construdlion. The possessive personal pronouns, 
his^ hers, its, gave a complete and exadl idea of their 
antecedents, and the simple form of the conjugations 
improved its appearance and phonetics ; while its ana- 
lytic simplicity expanded its power to repair losses, to 
preserve terms, to profit by accidents, and to absorb new- 
comers who had any adequate claim for admission. 
These modifications had exercised a very great influence 
upon the form of the language, principally in making 
its grammar and construdlion the most easy and natural 
of any modern tongue. If the copiousness of infledled 
forms had been infringed, yet the superabundance of 
verbs and of connec5ling words might well satisfy every 
exigency of discourse, express every nicety of observa- 
tion and the finest shades of meaning. It had a won- 



POIylSHKD FORM OF KNGI.ISH. 359 

derful correcftness and stability in describing thought, in 
appealing to the imagination, or in moving the senses or 
the affedlions. It afforded terms the most exa(5l and 
striking for the poet and the scholar. Its fidelity to 
these claims has been sustained as time has rolled on. 



CHAPTER XV. 

MODERN ENGLISH— CONTINUED AND COMPLETED. 

I. The Writers of the 1 8th Cen- 2. Their Use of English, with 
tury. Comments and Criticisms 

Thereon. 

Whkn we consider the growth of our language, noth- 
ing about it appears more striking than the order of its 
progress. In the first two centuries after the Norman 
invasion we find a mixture of Anglo-Saxon and the new 
forms that time and change had introduced — a sort of 
semi- Saxon, that is now difiicult to understand without 
a certain degree of study. Then came the period of 
Karly English, when the decaying forms used by the old 
writers have nearly merged into their Knglish dress, and 
we begin to recognize familiar appearances. This 
period, however, is marked by great changes ; new words 
take the place of old ones, and the newcomers are gen- 
erally of Anglo-Norman origin. The infusion is consid- 
erable, and in passing from semi-Saxon the language 
takes what may be almost termed a different mould, that 
leaves out a great number of the old settlers, and supplies 
their places with terms that have ever since remained. 

The next step in its graded progress is the middle 
form of English, as used by Chaucer, I^ydgate, and 
Gower ; and then we advance to the modern era of our 



KNGlvISH OF THK i8TH CKNTURY. 561 

present literature and conversation. Previous to the 
1 8th century there had been several periods when the 
language had appeared to be fit for the purposes of lit- 
erature, as when Chaucer employed it in his Canterbury 
Tales, and Barbour, his contemporary, adapted it to 
epic poetry. This was followed by the brilliant constel- 
lation of Scottish poets in the i6th century, and to this 
succeeded the memorable outburst of dramatic composi- 
tion, when Shakespeare and his contemporaries embel- 
lished it with their wonderful produdlions. The 17th 
century was adorned by Milton and Dry den, but it was 
reserved for the 18th to show the varied power of our 
tongue, for then arose a succession of writers in every 
branch of letters. Whatever there is of ease and ele- 
gance in expression can be found in Addison ; whatever 
of terse and pithy strength in Swift, and whatever of the 
grave and lofty in Gibbon. In the humorous pages of 
Sterne and Smollett we have the full effe(5l of simple 
English, and in Defoe the rarest instance of invention, 
clothed in a garb of words the fittest to give full effecft to 
the fable. In the writings of Goldsmith we have an 
example of English as transparent and beautiful as the 
flow of a crystal stream, and in Johnson the turgid and 
turbid bias of a great mind deceiving itself by a false 
and vicious style. In the verse of Pope there is the 
smooth, labored line of faultless metre and a delicious 
roll of words whose very sound is imitative of their 
meaning. 

But as I intend to speak of these as well as of others- 
in the present chapter, it is not necessary to refer more 
fully to them here . It is sufiicient to say that the 1 8th cen- 
tury was distinguished for its writings in the vernacular. 



362 E^NGI^ISH OF THK iS'TH CKNTURY. 

The greatest authors had ceased the use of lyatin, and 
even those who were eminent in science or philosophy- 
found their own tongue equal to express with clearness 
and to make plain and intelligible the abstruse problems 
of their learning. Hume wrote his history, Bolingbroke 
his essays, Sir Dugald Stewart his philosophy, Franklin 
his proverbs, Jonathan Edwards his dod:rines, and 
Young, Thomson, and Burns their effusions in the 
tongue they lisped when their mothers fed them with 
her food of kisses. Indeed, there was no phase of 
thought that was not wrought out by the writers of this 
period, and their producftions will continue to amuse and 
instru(5t as long as the language in which they are writ- 
ten shall be understood. The same intense sense of 
English phraseology is also visible in the memoirs, cor- 
respondence, and miscellaneous writings that have come 
down to us from that age. The letters of Swift and 
those of Boswell and Johnson, the diary of Pepys and 
that of Evelyn were not intended to be finished compo- 
sitions, but were written on the spur of the moment, and 
give us an idea of the English in ordinary colloquial 
discourse. All these combined excellences have con- 
ferred upon the first half of the century the title of the 
Augustan Age of our idiom. The language at that 
period is still considered the highest authority, and is, 
perhaps, the groundwork of our present good taste in 
writing. Mr. Blair in his "lyccftures upon Rhetoric" 
(page 120) recommends a pradlice for the purpose of 
acquiring a good style in composition. ''Take, for 
instance," he says, 

' ' a page of one of Addison's Spedlators, and read it attentively two or 
three times till we are in full possession of the thoughts it contains ; 



FRANKI.IN — THK SPECTATOR. 363 

then to lay aside the book, to endeavour to write out the passage 
from memory as well as we can ; and then to compare what we have 
written with the style of the author. Such an exercise will show us 
our defedls ; will teach us to corredl them ; and from the variety of 
expression which it will exhibit, will condudl us to that which is 
most beautiful. ' ' 

The simple, plain, and forcible style of Dr. Franklin 
was probably acquired by this manner of writing. He 
informs us in his memoirs that his father on one occasion 
pointed out to him a want of elegance in the expression 
and in the arrangement and perspicuity of his correspon- 
dence with a friend upon the subjecft of an amicable con- 
troversy, and feeling the justice of the remark, he be- 
came more attentive to language, and resolved to make 
every effort to improve his style, and he adds : 

* * Amidst these resolves an odd volume of the Spedlator fell into 
my hands. This was a publication I had never seen. I bought the 
volume and read it again and again. I was enchanted with it, 
thought the style excellent, and wished it were in my power to 
imitate it. With this view I selected some of the papers, made 
short summaries of the sense of each period, and put them for a few 
days aside. I then, without looking at the book, endeavoured to 
restore the essays to their true form, and to express each thought at 
length as it was in the original, employing the most appropriate 
words that occurred to my mind. I afterwards compared my Spec- 
tator with the original ; I perceived some faults, which I corrected ; 
but I found that I wanted a fund of words, if I may so express my- 
self, and a facility of recollecting and employing them, which I 
thought I should by that time have acquired had I continued to 
make verses. The continual need of words of the same meaning, 
but of different lengths for the measure, or of different sounds for 
the rhyme, would have obliged me to seek for a variety of syno- 
nyms, and have rendered me master of them. From this belief, I 
took some of the tales of the Spectator and turned them into verse ; 
and after a time when I had sufficiently forgotten them, I again 



364 SWIFI^. 

converted them into prose. Sometimes, also, I mingled all my 
summaries together ; and a few weeks after endeavoured to arrange 
them in the best order, before I attempted to form the periods and 
complete the essays. This I did with a view of acquiring method 
in the arrangement of my thoughts. On comparing afterwards my 
performance with the original, many faults were apparent, which I 
corrected ; but I had sometimes the satisfaction to think that, in 
certain particulars of little importance, I had been fortunate enough 
to improve the order of thought or the style ; and this encouraged 
me to hope that I should succeed in time in writing decently in the 
English language, which was one of the great objects of my am- 
bition." 

Of all the writers of that period it is generally ad- 
mitted that Dean Swift represents better than any other 
the Saxon genius of our speech, and Samuel Johnson 
its I^atinized and ambitious mode of expression. The 
former never resorted like the latter to lyatin neologisms 
to eke out his phrases, unless the Saxon and Norman 
powers of our language did not furnish him with terms 
sufficiently full to express his meaning. In his style we 
find home-bred English united to genius, and we are 
pleased as much with the vigor and ease of his di(5lion 
as with the pungency of his wit. He gives us an 
example of his views on this subjedl in a letter to a 
young clergyman, which I quote from Rosco's edition 
of his works : (Vol. v., p. 307.) 

" I should likewise have been glad, if you had applied yourself 
a little more to the study of the English language than I fear you 
have done ; the neglect whereof is one of the most general defects 
among scholars of this kingdom, who seem not to have the least 
conception of a style, but run on in a kind of fiat phraseology pecul- 
iar to the nation ; neither do I perceive that any person either finds 
or acknowledges his wants upon this head, or in the least desires to 
have them supplied. Proper words in proper places make the true 
definition of a style." 



SWIFT. 365 

He admonislies against the frequent use of obscure 
terms and hard words, about which he says : 

** And I defy the greatest divine to produce any law, either of God 
or man, which obliges me to comprehend the meaning of omnis- 
cience, omnipresence, ubiquity, attribute, beatific vision, with a 
thousand others so frequent in pulpits, any more than that oi eccen- 
tric, idiosyncrasy, entity, and the like." 

These passages contain about one hundred and fifty 
words, aside from those in Italics. Only twenty of the 
whole flight are dissyllables, about four trisyllables, 
and the words of greater length are phraseology, disquisi- 
tion, remedied, and abilities. It would be difficult to 
supply the place of these with shorter or clearer terms, 
and it will be observed that none of them are hard words, 
and though derived from the I^atin, they are just as 
English as their Saxon neighbors. The whole quota- 
tions seem to be in accordance with his own rule of 
proper words in proper places. Swift was a journalist, 
from 1 7 10 to 17 13, during his stay in London. Disap- 
pointed in not being made a bishop by the Whigs, who 
were in power, he became a Tory, and wrote powerful 
articles in the interest of that party for the ' ' Examiner, " 
and produced at the same time a constant flow of pam- 
phlets, libels, and essays. He developed his ideas with 
such clearness, good sense, and in such racy and vigor- 
ous English, that the common and middle classes of the 
people could comprehend and enjoy all he wrote. He 
had not much to serve as models. The press was of 
recent origin. The first daily journal in England ap- 
peared in 1702, and yet the style of his writings became 
so popular that his historical tradl upon the conducft of 
the allies in the war then pending, rendered the Treaty 



366 



SWIFT. 



of Utrecht possible and the peace of Europe which fol- 
lowed it. He brought out the " Tale of a Tub " while 
in London, and the ''Travels of Gulliver," the *'Dra- 
pier lyctters," besides poems and essays on politics, 
religion, and literature after he finally settled in Ireland. 
His prolific pen teemed with fi(5lions, that conveyed his 
morbid views of the world and the multiplied passions 
and characters it produces. He wrote without love or 
sympathy, and used his prodigious powers as the terri- 
ble weapons of his personal hates. He was the "great- 
est genius" and " the most unhappy in history." But 
there is no difficulty in comprehending the meaning of 
his language. The sentences are such as might be 
casually met with in any commonly written letter or 
note, or even in good colloquial English ; and although the 
diabolical malice of his satire cannot be admired, it is 
uttered in an English garb so unambiguous as to add to 
its direc5lness and sting. The syntadlical constru(5lion 
is united by our particles into the clearest order of ex- 
pression, and perhaps in a manner as distincft and forci- 
ble as if it had been rendered with a greater supply of 
lyatin derivatives and with the sonorous swell of the 
Latin constru(5lion. Especially in the ''Journal to 
Stella " the periods are short, simple, and complete, and 
there is an apparent community of feeling nowhere else 
to be found in his writings. The letters and historical 
sketches of the Dean are remarkable for the purity of 
their idiom. Its metal has the ring of the Saxon ore 
from which it ran, and we also observe that it was not 
only of Saxon parentage, but that the unpresuming air 
of the words and their tendency to monosyllablism are 
indeed the secret of its extraordinary force and precision. 



JOHNSON. 367 

It cannot be said of the Dean that he did not use other 
words than those of a Saxon origin, but only that he used 
them less sparingly than his contemporaries. Whoever 
would form an overstrained opinion regarding this great 
and unhappy genius ought to peruse the sketch of his 
life and work in the brilliant pages of Taine's History 
of English I^iterature. 

It is often asserted that Dr. Johnson's excessive style 
offers a wonderful contrast to that of the writer we have 
just been considering. His sentences are padded and 
corpulent with useless epithets, and examples of this can 
be cited from many of his writings. We ought not, 
however, to make an invidious sele(5lion solely for ani- 
madversion, and withhold all notice whatever from the 
extraordinary merits and elegance that pervade consid- 
erable portions of his literary work. For instance, in 
91 of the Idler, he has an essay upon the sufficiency of 
the English language, addressed to our common sense 
in dignified and plain English : 

' ' Every man is more speedily instructed in his own language than 
by any other ; before we search the rest of the world for teachers, let us 
try whether we may not spare our trouble by finding them at home. 
The riches of the English language are much greater than they are 
commonly supposed. * * Of our poets I need say little, because 
they are perhaps the only authors to whom their country has done 
justice. We consider the whole succession, from Spenser to Pope, 
as superior to any names which the Continent can boast ; and, there- 
fore, the poets of other nations, however familiarly they may be 
sometimes mentioned, are very little read, except by those who 
design to borrow their beauties. * * There is, I think, not one 
of the liberal arts which may not be completely learned in the 
English language. He that searches after mathematical knowledge 
may busy himself among his own countrymen, and will find one or 
other able to instruct him in every part of their abstruse sciences. 



368 



JOHNSON. 



He that is delighted with experiments, and wishes to know the 
nature of bodies from certain and visible effects, is happily placed 
where the mechanical philosophy was first established by a public 
institution, and from which it has spread to other countries." 

He then speaks of the extraordinary facilities in 
English for studies in philology, its superiority in works 
on theology, metaphysics, its profound investigations in 
matters of government and law, and concludes with the 
following sentence : 

"Thus copiously instructive is the English language, and thus 
needless is all recourse to foreign writers. Let us not, therefore, 
make our neighbours proud by soliciting help which we do not 
want, nor discourage our own industry by difficulties which we 
need not suffer. ' ' 

It may seem strange that the writer of these examples 
should be blamed with an attempt to emasculate the vig- 
orous tongue of our ancestors, upon which he bestows 
such genuine admiration, and to substitute an Italian or 
I^atin jargon in its place. It is not the I^atinity of his 
dicftion which offends, but his bad and affected style. 
His most brilliant passages appear perfectly artificial, 
yet his great practice may have enabled him to conceal 
the labor by which they were formed ; passages, too, 
that bear the impress of ponderous effort and of the 
smoke of midnight oil, may after all have been unstud- 
ied and thrown off without any strain but that of long 
cultivated habit in a fixed style. His individual words 
are much like Artemus Ward's regiment of soldiers, 
composed of brigadier-generals. A proposition is stated 
in grave and awful pomp, and is immediately followed 
by another that perhaps destroys its importance, or ob- 
scures its meaning. He appears to have matured this 



JOHNSON. 369 

practice in his earliest works. It is visible in his latest. 
Take the following sentence from his comparison of 
Dry den and Pope as an example of the kind of practice 
alluded to : 

" Dryden knew more of men in his general nature, and Pope 
in his local manners. The notions of Dryden were formed by com- 
prehensive speculation, and those of Pope by minute attention. 
There is more dignity in the knowledge of Dryden, and more cer- 
tainty in that of Pope." 

One more example will sufi&ce. In speaking of 
Doctor Young's satires entitled *'The lyOve of Fame 
the Universal Passion," he writes in his Lives of the 
English Poets that it is a very great performance : 

"It is said to be a series of epigrams, and if it be, it is what the 
author intended ; his endeavour was at the production of striking 
distichs and pointed sentences, and his distichs have the weight of 
solid sentiments, and his points the sharpness of resistless truth. 
His characters are often selected with discernment, and drawn with 
nicety ; his illustrations are often happy and his reflections often 
just. His species of satire is between those of Horace and Juvenal ; 
he has the gayety of Horace without his laxity of numbers, and the 
morality of Juvenal with greater variety of images. ' ' 

His balanced sentences and antitheses are not the 
way in which men either think or talk, and this style of 
language is now of all other mannerisms the most 
avoided, except from its facility to be caricatured or 
burlesqued. When we would express a happy or noble 
turn of thought, we avoid the long-linked vocables in 
his frosty euphonisms ; and modern authors agree in 
reproaching his obscure and brilliant verbiage. The 
affectation of his language, his pretentious metaphors, 
his antitheses ad infinitum, and his rage for speaking 
like nobody else, have long since been consigned to 
24 



37^ JOHNSON. 

oblivion; and the reputation of the writings which were 
supposed to be immortal in his own generation, have 
faded day by day from his time to ours; he is not 
remembered by his works as an author, but by his 
peculiarities as a man, and these, perhaps, have been 
preserved because Boswell has inscribed them in the 
apotheosis of his idol. He had models of genuine Eng- 
lish in the great romances of Richardson, Fielding, 
Smollett, and Sterne, as well as in other works that were 
not romances, such as Swift's Tale of a Tub, Addi- 
son's Spectator, Steele's essays, and the clear and pol- 
ished style of Bolingbroke. The age could also boast 
of Hume and Robertson, Sir Dugald Stewart, and Jona- 
than Edwards, whose treatise on the freedom of the will 
is still regarded as a masterpiece in theological litera- 
ture. Goldsmith and Burke were his associates, and 
he had himself declared that Pilgrim's Progress, which 
was composed in the most home-bred English, was the 
only uninspired book except Don Quixote which the 
reader ever wished were longer. The English novels 
and essays just mentioned had gained an unparalleled 
popularity, and were supposed to have established the 
standard of Augustan elegance in England. Johnson's 
influence must have been great, indeed, to impose his lit- 
erary ways upon such an age. He was the literary 
tyrant of his century. His influence is said to be visi- 
ble in books that are far more celebrated than any of his 
own, and to have formed the basis of the brilliant and 
composite dialed of Gibbon. This claim may, however, 
well be questioned, since the biographer of the great 
historian informs us that the writers Gibbon had habit- 
ually before his eyes were Pascal and Montesquieu, 



THK PROPORTIONS OF I^ANGUAGKS IN OUR OWN. 37^ 

until his style of dicftion was completely formed. 
After all, it cannot be fairly averred that Johnson 
coins new words, or distorts the sense of old ones ; but 
he twists them into unidiomatic and fantastic shapes, 
and his mannerism is what Coleridge would call archi- 
tectural, which is now safe for nobody to imitate. Mr. 
Weisse refers to Sir James Mackintosh as one who finds 
fault with Johnson because he uses so many Latin 
words, and points out the fact that Sir James uses them 
more frequently than Johnson. Among the various 
estimates of the different languages that compose our 
own, we may take the following analysis as an approxi- 
mation. In the whole vocabulary the proportions in 
general use are about : 

Anglo-Saxon 60 

Latin and French 30 

Greek 5 

95 
leaving five per cent, to be attributed to other words, of 
which we are daily acquiring fresh supplies. Perhaps by 
counting all the words in Webster's Unabridged Diction- 
ary there would be an unexpedled parity between these 
ingredients. No writer can, therefore, dispense with 
the rich Latin infusions, which, when quite naturalized, 
are just as English as the Saxon radicals. The numeri- 
cal relations of these words naturally depend upon the 
genius, taste, and somewhat upon the education of the 
author. We find the Latin parts of speech playing an 
important part in the noblest prose and even in the most 
brilliant poetical compositions. The relative propor- 
tions of these words are not much greater in Johnson's 
works than in those of many other standard authors. 



3/2 THE NUMERICAI, USK OF WORDS. 

For instance, in Paradise I^ost, 80 words out of a hun- 
dred are Anglo-Saxon; Macaulay, 75; Prescott, 77; 
Gibbon, 70; Johnson, 72 ; while Pope, his contemporary, 
has only four per cent, more lyatin terms than Chaucer, 
who wrote over three hundred years before. A large 
proportion of our trisyllables and most all of our poly- 
syllables are from a I^atin source, and from it we derive 
a prodigal abundance of words ending in tion^ ity^ ate^ 
and ent. Any one can recall hundreds of these. The 
charge against Johnson is, therefore, only one of degree, 
and not a very serious one at that. Perhaps it was not 
a source of certain improvement in his case, but it would 
appear that upon the whole our words from Rome are 
useful and indispensable to our composite English. We 
live in this composite English. It resounds in our ears. 
We think in it. We love and pray in it ; and from the 
ruins of the temple erec5led to the Roman Muses, we 
selecft beautiful terms and words of deep meaning with 
which to embellish our mother tongue just as we con- 
tinue to imitate its graces in our works of art. 

As Johnson uses none but English words, or such 
foreign ones as were denizen in the language of his 
time, it is the stilted style of the great colossus that is now 
spoken of by way of derision as Johnsonese. He wanted 
" big words for big thinking." He had not even this 
excuse, for his excessive refledlions are upon the most 
commonplace subjedls. He made no discoveries in 
science or philosophy, and there is scarcely what is 
worthy of being called an original idea in his volumes. 
In the preface to his folio di(5lionary. Dr. Johnson 
informs us that he studiously endeavored to colle(5l 
examples and authorities from the writings before the 



THK GOOD USE OF I.ANGUAGK. 3/3 

Restoration, which he regarded as the wells of English 
undefiled, as the pure sources of di(5lion ; and that he 
has fixed Sidney's work (1638) as the boundary beyond 
which he made few excursions. I believe he has not a 
single example or authority from the writers of Early 
English. Those authors most assuredly are not models 
in literature, but to them is due the high honor of hav- 
ing fixed our language, and of having put an end to all 
chance of its ever becoming Romance or Gaulish. They 
secured its formation at a very critical period of its 
infancy, and gave it a definite charadler, from which 
Chaucer drew the lingual ingredients of his immortal 
verse, and in which Wickliffe clothed his translation of 
the Bible. Early English was the crucible through 
which our language passed to its maturity and splendor. 
Perhaps it is a proper subjec?!: of regret that the great 
lexicographer outlawed the literary remains of that 
period, since they stand in such useful relationship and 
affinity to our vernacular. It has been said the vices of 
a style are the exadl consequence of the vices of the 
thoughts. The reproach, therefore, falls upon the vices of 
the thoughts, and if these are extremely fine and singular, 
they are necessarily expressed in words and phrases 
that are rarely seen together. In answer to this it may 
be remarked that whatever can only be expressed at 
the expense of clearness and the good use of language 
is not worth the trouble of being expressed at all. Cer- 
tain shades of sentiment, sometimes morbid, and some- 
times strained, are not worth the trouble of being 
studied ; and there can be no doubt that the more deli- 
cate the shades of chara(5ler, or the more profound the 
subjec5l to be investigated, the words which serve to 



374 IvlTKRARY KNGI.ISH. 

impress or explain them ought to be clear and precise. 
Many writers of Johnson's own time can be referred to 
whose works are examples of elegant and genuine dic- 
tion, to say nothing of Swift, and Addison, and Bol- 
ingbroke, the names of Sir Dugald Stewart, John I^ocke, 
and Dr. Thomas Reid, who, in proportion as the subjects 
of their observations were abstruse, endeavored to 
render themselves more intelligible and to write in a 
manner similar to the ordinary use of language. Mr. 
Marsh appears to approve of Macaulay's views expressed 
in the Edinburgh Review : 

"Johnson's conversation appears to have been quite equal to 
his writings in matter, and far superior to them in manner. When he 
talked he clothed his wit and his sense in forcible and natural 
expressions. As soon as he took his pen in his hand to write for 
the public, his style became systematically vicious. All his books 
are written in a learned language, which nobody hears from his 
mother or his nurse ; in a language in which nobody ever quarrels, 
or drives bargains, or makes love ; in a language in which nobody 
ever thinks. It is clear that Johnson himself did not think in the 
dialect in which he wrote. The expressions which canie first to 
his tongue were simple, energic, and picturesqiie. When he wrote 
for publication, he did his sentences out of English into Johnsonese. " 

Dean Swift belonged to the beginning of the i8th 
century, and Dr. Johnson to its close. But in the inter- 
mediate time the language was cultivated by a multi- 
tude of writers, who exhibited the genius of the age in 
an idiom of purely literary English, and at the same 
time there flourished perhaps the greatest orators the 
world has ever seen — Burke and Krskine, Chatham and 
Fox, Patrick Henry and old Samuel Adams. Some 
modern writers like Dr. Gregory think that previous 
authors are scarcely to be considered authority upon 



IvlTE^RARY KNGI.ISH. 375 

questions of pure Knglisli. However that may be, it 
was certainly an era of great importance in the history 
of our speech. 

Spain was the country of the romance writers. It 
was the land where Cervantes and Le Sage laid the 
scenes of their inimitable stories. But all at once a 
change takes place. An interest is taken in other 
romances. New names break out — those of Defoe, of 
Fielding, of Sterne, of Steele, of Swift, of Addison, and 
Smollett. These names become familiar on the Conti- 
nent as well as on the Island. Translations are made 
into French of " Robinson Crusoe," of the comedies of 
Steele, of the essays of Addison, and the voyages of Gulli- 
ver. A system of literary exchanges is established — a 
commonwealth of ideas. England can write without 
borrowing or imitating, and takes her place as speaking 
and writing one of the great literary languages of 
Europe. Anthony Provost, a prolific French author, 
whose works amount to 170 volumes, crowns his labors 
by translating the three great novels of Richardson — 
"Pamela," "Clarisse," and " Grandison," and offers 
them in their own language to his countrymen. If the 
author of ' * Joseph Andrews ' ' continues to imitate the 
humor of I^e Sage, on the other hand Provost imitates 
Richardson ; and Rousseau, who knows him only through 
the translations of Provost, imitates and, perhaps, sur- 
passes him in his " Nouvelle Heloise." They translate 
' ' Tom Jones, ' ' and Grimm and Le Harpe proclaim it 
the chef-d'oeuvre of modern romance. Diderot reads and 
praises Pamela and Clarisse as finer than anything in 
French romance, and Madame du Deffand prefers Tom 
Jones to "Gil Bias," while Marivaux, another famous 



376 BNGI.ISH NOVKI.S. 

author, writes up " lyC Specftateur Francois ' ' in imitation 
of Addison. Few Frenchmen could read English at that 
day, but its study soon became popular, and a knowl- 
edge of it spread all over France and, indeed, the entire 
Continent. 

The English novels just mentioned strike out a new 
vein. The loves and adventures of nobles and princes 
are no longer the themes of romantic interest ; but the 
characfters are drawn from the ordinary places and pur- 
suits of life and from the natural emotions and dispositions 
of men and women. Joseph Andrews^ Tom Jones ^ and 
Peregrine Pickle are people who have not very desirable so- 
cial conditions, and even Sir Roger de Coverley, although 
a knight, is delineated in the inimitable papers of Steele 
and Addison as simply an example of a country gentle- 
men, rather than an heroic noble. The immortal " Don 
Quixote " was a satire upon chivalry, and Gil Bias de- 
scribed the life and adventures of a vagabond ; but the 
new English novel was a representation of living man- 
ners and the imitations of human life. The honor of 
rendering the novel capable of these new and ambitious 
powers, beyond any contest, belongs to the English lan- 
guage. These writers were, however, guilty of intro- 
ducing vulgar and low words and gross impurities of 
expression into their compositions. Even Addison is 
not free from this reproach. The evil was in some de- 
gree owing to the universal corruption of taste that came 
from the tainted literature of the Restoration. To defile 
our language is worse than to debase the gold coin of 
the country. And at the present day have we not works 
of ficftion as impure in suggestion as those of Mrs. Behn 
or those by Rochester and Etherage ? Such unpleasant 



KNGI.ISH NOVKIyS. 377 

features do not, however, destroy the merits of these 
extraordinary produdlions. The extravagance of delin- 
eation, that is the charm of imaginative literature, can 
only be made to look like reality by an easy flow of the 
language, which gives to the incidents of the story an 
appearance as if they were among the probable things 
of life. We all remember the pathetic account of the 
Lyons Donkey in "Tristram Shandy." It is the story 
of a poor ass with which Tristram forms an imaginary 
conversation, and the cast of the language gives an 
appearance of reality to the impossibility. It is the 
speech of nature, the language of a sentiment that affedls 
us most. There are many examples of the same kind 
in the Speculator and Tattler. In one of the numbers we 
are told of a place so far north that words are con- 
gealed or frozen as soon as spoken by the intense cold, 
and thawed out long afterwards, when they are heard as 
if just uttered. In others we are told of the transmigra- 
tion of a monkey, the dissedlion of a beau's head and 
a coquette's heart, and of the observations of Sir Roger 
de Coverley upon the performance at the theatre. These 
pieces derive their merit and exquisite humor from the 
plain unaffec5led Knglish sense of the words, which look 
so much like reality as to overcome the improbability of 
the story. It is the turn of the language more than 
anything else that produces this magical effedl. 

Mrs. Barbauld edited a collec5lion of English novels 
of the time of Anne (1701-1714), and she affirms that 
there were more good writers in this walk living in her 
day than at any period since that of Richardson and 
Fielding. Many of these were insignificant, and a few of 
them like those of Mrs. Behn were vile, but the works 



37^ POKTRY OF THK i8TH CENTURY. 

contributed by Ann Radcliffe, Madame D'Arblay, and 
Maria Kdgeworth marked the intelledlual progress of 
our language, and made amends for the loose composi- 
tions that time has thrown into oblivion. The literary 
taste for works of this kind has increased with time. 
Probably the number of new novels annually published 
in Great Britain may be estimated by the hundred, 
exclusive of reprints and periodical serials. The annual 
impressions in the United States, where everybody reads, 
amount to several hundred more, and perhaps this 
country bears the palm in this kind of literary fecundity ; 
so that a careful computation would probably show a 
total produ(5lion of not less than a thousand new works 
of this description poured out each year by the press in 
the English language alone, to say nothing of transla- 
tions from other countries. 

The 1 8th century produced a great deal of poetry, 
some of which was not at all above mediocrity, and a 
portion of it, but by no means the largest, possesses an 
extraordinary degree of merit. Gray's "Elegy Written 
in a Country Churchyard," Pope's " Rape of the lyock," 
a few hundred lines from Goldsmith, Collins 's "Ode to 
the Passions," Dr. Young's "Night Thoughts," Beat- 
tie's "Minstrel," Thomson's "Seasons," Burns's "Cot- 
ter's Saturday Night," his "Tam O'Shanter," and his 
immortal songs constitute a refulgent treasure of poetical 
literature that no other language could probably equal. 
Perhaps Byron, whose extraordinary mastery of the 
poetic art has placed him in the opinion of many good 
judges at its head, was not so very far out of the way in 
his estimation of the Rape of the Ivock, for it is a poem 
altogether unique, in which humor and fancy are 



poKTRY OF the: I 8th ckntury. 3/9 

revealed in many beautiful expressions, and where sen- 
timent and language conform to each other with singular 
grace and harmony. If the purity and power of a style 
depend upon the choice of words, then no one has ever 
surpassed that of Pope in this poem. The estimate 
of his works has varied more than that of any other 
author of the i8th century; Taine denies him the laurel 
of poetic genius, and Byron thinks him the greatest 
moral poet of any age or in any language. The former 
affec5ls to crush him, as if adluated by a feeling of scorn, 
and pours out his usual avalanche of metaphors, antithe- 
ses, and adjedlives ; but we have only to open a volume 
of Pope, and the whizzing pyrotechnics of the critic fade 
away before a brighter radiance than his own. No poet 
has a richer store of words, and none, not even Shakes- 
peare, has written so many verses that have become 
current maxims in our language. 

*' Know then thyself, presume not God to scan. 
The proper study of mankind is man." 

Human language has never so portrayed the infinite 
immensity of love as in * ' Kloisa to Abelard ' ' ; and the 
following extra(5l describing the "blameless Vestal's 
lot," with not more than one Latin derivative to a line, 
derives the sinew and melody from the Saxon and Old 
English words, that sprinkle the verse like flowers : 

* * Grace shines around her with serenest beams, 

And whispering angels prompt her golden dreams. 
For her the unfading rose of Eden blooms, 

And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes ; 
For her the spouse prepares the bridal ring, 

For her white virgins hymeneals sing; 
To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away, 

And melts in visions of eternal day. ' ' 



380 POKTRY IN THB I 8th CKNTURY. 

In the expression shines around her all the vowels are 
present and so sequent as to produce the most melodious 
combinations. No language can match the phrase 
whispering angels in startling solemnity, nor the pellucid 
flow of the rose of Eden blooms. These are among the 
debts we owe the crisp Saxon radicals we have pre- 
served in all their plastic beaut}^ Dryden observed in 
speaking upon the difficulties of English that poetry 
requires ornament, and that this was not to be had from 
our old Tuetonic monosyllables, especially as these were 
clogged with consonants, which, he said, were the dead 
weight of our mother tongue. This must be accounted 
a very singular complaint of the great poet, who trans- 
lated Virgil into the vernacular in a style that combines 
all the known delicacies and beauties pradliced by the 
ancients. He commences that masterpiece with a line 
of these despised Teutonic monosyllables : 

Arms and the man I sing, who, forced by fate — 

Our vowels and consonants are the same as those in 
other European languages, only that we have somewhat 
changed the sound of the former, and they have pre- 
cisely the same power as in the Latin itself. It would 
seem, therefore, that the same sequence and art in plac- 
ing them would produce the harmony requisite in good 
versification. Indeed, poetry eschews long words with 
horror, and resorts to the short etymons on account of 
their brevity and force. Especially is this the case 
when a striking truth or a pathetic chord of the human 
heart is to be touched. Take, for instance, these lines 
from Young's Night Thoughts : 

" The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, 
But from its loss ; to give it then a tongue 



POKTRY IN THK I 8th century. 38 1 

Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke 
I feel the solemn sound. ' ' 

** How empty learning, and how vain is art, 
But as it mends the life and guides the heart. ' ' 

The ' ' In Memoriam ' ' of Tennyson is a poem of 
monosyllables, and its harmony and pathos is transmitted 
to every soul that reads it. 

I may be pardoned for giving the following poetical 
descriptions of Night, sable goddess, the first by Milton 
and the last by Young : 

*' Now came still evening on, and twilight grey 
Had in her sober livery all things clad ; 
Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, 
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests 
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; 
She all night long her amorous descant sung ; 
Silence was pleas'd ; now glow'd the firmament 
With living sapphires ; Hesperus, that led 
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length 
Apparent queen unveil 'd her peerless light, 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw." 

* * Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 
In ray less majesty now stretches forth 
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. 
Silence how dead ! and darkness how profound ! 
Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds ; 
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause ; 
An awful pause ! prophetic of her end. 
And let her prophecy be soon fulfill'd ; 
Fate drop the curtain ; I can lose no more." 

It will be seen that the words in these extracfls are 
derived in quite unequal portions from among those of 
one syllable and those of more than one, and this com- 



382 for:eign words admitted. 

parison may serve to convince us that the bulk of Eng- 
lish words in current use is from the primitive stock of 
our language ; but it is equally evident that not only 
the beauty but much of the strength is produced by the 
I^atin terms with which they are interwoven. The lines 
just quoted will undoubtedly confirm this observation. 
I may remark that they seem to me to be the greatest 
triumph of blank verse. In both passages the images 
are set in so clear a light that it is impossible to be blind 
to them. Excluding one proper name, they contain 
about one hundred and fifty words, and of this number 
only about twenty-five or thirty are of I^atin derivation, 
but they add a peculiar majesty to these memorable 
delineations, and yield the aesthetic melody upon which 
the regularity of the verse moves on. Hundreds of 
passages could be selec5led almost as sublime as these, 
in which are found the same combinations of classical 
and Gothic elements. 

It is not my intention to examine our language as it 
is presented during the present century. I have but 
space to say that among its more marked features its 
literature abounds in words that come from the most 
widely separated portions of the earth, and yet scarcely 
any of these foreigners are admitted into common use, 
unless they can offer an equivalent for the honor of 
membership. The widest liberty of expansion has only 
added to the vigor and delicacy of our English tongue. 
To place it on a procrustean bed would destroy its vital 
independence; and it may be safely afiirmed that its 
culture has received more care, and the diffusion of its 
more elegant forms has become more general within the 
last three quarters of a century than at any previous 



OUR KNOWI.BDGE OF ENGLISH. 383 

period. Our knowledge of it comes from personal expe- 
rience and observation. We cannot converse with our 
neighbors or read the daily papers without coming in 
diredl conta(5l with its every day idiom. It is an objedt 
lesson that instrucfts us hourly in our social and business 
intercourse. There is but little motive to illustrate it by 
citations from authors since it is so constant in our 
experience, so common in our pradlice. Perhaps the 
great mass of those who speak it do not realize the 
necessity of observing the standard of good English. Its 
free use offers incessant opportunities for its abuse, but 
like the running stream that receives an impurity it 
runs clear and sparkling again just beyond. To criticise 
its present use or misuse is a work that is splendidly 
performed by writers like French, Moon, Richard Grant 
White, and others, who expose the inaccuracies com- 
mitted by carelessness and indifference. I have neither 
time nor space to enter upon a field so well occupied 
already, and in which most valuable service has been 
performed. 

In the next and closing chapter I shall give my 
views touching the present rank and position of English 
among the living languages of the world. Before, how- 
ever, dwelling upon that subjedl, I here introduce the 
opinion of an eminent philologist who has made English 
literature a careful study, and who deliberately pays it 
the following eloquent tribute : 

"Of the English language in general it may be confidently 
affirmed that it yields to no other — either ancient or modern — in the 
excellence and variety of its powers ; in its actual attainments, or 
its susceptibility of improvement. Its didlion is copious, varied, 
expressive, and melodious; its formation simple and obvious, yet 



3^4 BLOQUKNT TRIBUTE. 

clear and adequate ; its construdlion natural and easy, yet nervous 
and bold. It is capable of fulfilling all the purposes of the poet, 
the orator, or the philosopher, of gratifying the ear, moving the 
passions, informing the reason, or affedling the heart. It is equally 
adapted to the terrible or the gentle, the majestic or familiar, the 
serious or the gay. The writer may give full scope to his imagina- 
tion, unlimited range to his fancy ; he may observe mankind with 
minute attention, or inquire into truth with subtle discrimination ; 
if his images be distindl, and his conceptions accurate, he shall not 
want expression to sustain his highest flights, and the elegance and 
splendour of his words shall at least equal the grace and dignity of 
the thoughts." (Walker, English Prose. Introdu6lion.) 



CHAPTER XVI. 

I. Present Rank and Condition 2. Its Diffusion, and the Pros- 
of English Among the pe6t of Its General Use. 

Living Languages of the 
World. 

Having traced the origin and history of our English 
down to the beginning of the 19th century, I shall dwell 
in this closing chapter upon its present condition among 
the languages of the world. 

We can scarcely estimate the prodigious power of 
the English language in propagating its own use. It 
was a saying of the ancients that if a man were cast 
away upon a strange island he would soon learn the 
native tongue sufficiently to make known his wants and 
desires ; so if a people were to lose their native tongue 
they would soon invent one to take its place. That 
which distinguishes English today is its diffusion every- 
where. It is spoken by a race that covers the eartk 
with its business and ideas. The unparalleled num- 
bers by whom it is spoken and written, and their increase 
and influence in every part of the globe, give it a position 
among the languages of mankind such as no other has 
enjoyed since the Roman tongue became extin<5l. There 
is a universal demand for English. It is the language 
of commerce and finance, and has been accepted in 
diplomacy and social intercourse. In traveling you 
will find it spoken wherever you go, and for whatever 
25 



386 I^HK INCRKASK OF KNOWI.KDGK. 

you want. There is no need of learning a foreign 
language, unless for ornament. Your own has become 
cosmopolitan. We will refer to its dissemination fur- 
ther on. 

Another of its great features is its richness in syno- 
nyms, and the extent and variety of its vocabulary. 
This is a convenience that gives it a decided superiority 
over that spoken anywhere else. The gains it has made 
during the present century have been owing to the 
stupendous growth in knowledge and invention. Useful 
experiments have revealed grander secrets in medicine, 
chemistry, and astronomy. New countries have been 
explored, new avenues of trade opened up, and the 
whole ethical and mental conditions of mankind sub- 
jedled to the most searching analysis; while under the 
light of modern engineering, improvements have been 
introduced into the pursuits of daily life, and into all 
the industries that give employment to the race. New 
words have been compounded, or old ones have been 
enlarged, to express these new ideas, and their use has 
been sandlioned without regard to the etymological tinker- 
ing that disfigures so many of them. Bach science brings 
its peculiar nomenclature, and every trade its phrases 
and catch- words. Many of these will drop out when they 
become useless. The additions thus made to our vocab- 
ulary are immense, and the lexicographers can scarcely 
keep up with the claims of the newcomers for admission 
into complete fellowship with the older denizens. Some 
have feared that the language itself would suffer from 
so great an infusion of new elements, but this danger 
can easily be averted by requiring the strangers to put 
on an English dress, and to add such prefixes and* 



NEW MKTHOD OF TEACHING. 38/ 

suffixes as will conform them to our declensions and 
conjugations, for if we adhere to our forms of syntax the 
language will suffer no modification that will affecfl its 
strucfture or charadler. We have seen that it is not an 
original one, but is composed of polyglot constituents, 
gathered from all the tongues spoken by civilized man ; 
and many of its components have come from barbarous 
races, who have no system of speech but that which 
expresses the fewest possible ideas. It is, however, of 
the first importance that we keep a stri(5l surveillance 
over these recruits, and admit none but those which can 
prove their claim to a useful place and purpose. 

There is a modern theory that a child should leafrn 
to read before he learns the alphabet. This is not a 
very strange idea when we consider that he learns to 
speak before he learns to write. There are many 
advantages in this pradlice, for by it the mind is trained 
to think and put words together, while the alphabet is 
unconsciously absorbed. This is the method of teaching 
now pursued, and the pupil learns to read in a shorjter 
period of time than it formerly took to learn the alphabet 
alone, and he acquires the art of reading, writing, and 
language together. These three branches were formerly 
taught separately, and each had its full course of study, 
but by the modern system they are but one study, and 
there is an immense economy of time and patience. 
The old way was to study grammar first, which few 
children could understand, and years were consumed 
without obtaining anything but a memorized routine of 
abstradl rules that contained little or no meaning to 
their minds. But grammar is now pracftically taught 
with reading, writing, and spelling. In other words, 



388 NI^W MKTHOD OF TKACHING. 

they are taught the proper use of language, the spelling 
of words and reading all together, not by rote lessons, but 
by adlually doing the work themselves. Here the black- 
board has been of great assistance. The teacher, for 
instance, writes an exercise upon it, and the pupil is 
called upon to point out the words of which it is com- 
posed, the letters in the words, and how they are 
arranged in order to express an idea. In a more 
advanced stage the pupil learns to write a sentence 
given out by the teacher. Then an objedl is placed 
before him — a stone, a leaf, a plant, or anything with 
color and form, which he describes in writing. It is 
really surprising how quickly and easily he acquires the 
use of language, and how clearly he expresses thought. 
These lessons offer excellent opportunities to learn four 
or five branches at once, that were formerly taught sepa- 
rately and usually occupied years of wearisome study. 

The conception of making our English tongue a 
universal study and impressing it upon the minds of the 
rising generation, is a symptom almost exclusively of the 
19th century. We cannot but think that when sixty or 
a hundred millions of people are thus brought up in its 
knowledge and purity, it will greatly advance its progress 
everywhere. There is but one literature in our widely 
diffused English, and whatever of improvement is made 
in one region will find a passport throughout the whole 
extent of its widely spread empire, and it is not improba- 
ble that the mould it may receive here will affedl it in 
lyondon as much as in Washington. 

There is nothing more striking in the history of our 
language than the great variety of diale(5ls to which it 
has given rise. We have seen the three principal ones 



ENGLISH OF PURITANS AND CAVAI^IKRS. 389 

that distinguished Earl}^ English, but these were infi- 
nitely varied by shades of difference in the adjacent 
portions of the country, and even today you can tell 
from what part of the British Isles a man comes by 
the peculiarities of his dialec5l alone. In the United 
States the distin(5lions are not so marked, but still they 
afford some basis to justify the license of the diale(5lic 
novelist and song writer. These are, however, gross 
exaggerations, that seldom occur except in extremely 
rare circumstances and within very narrow limits. We 
need scarcely take any account of the negro patois, for 
it is confined to a class that exercises no influence as yet 
upon either language or literature. This diversity of 
diale(5ls has probably exercised an unfavorable influence 
upon the purity of our tongue, and it is not desirable 
that its diflusion should carry these differences along 
with it. It is a remarkable fa(5l that they did not cross 
the ocean in the Mayflower, nor land upon the banks of 
the James. The Puritans and the Cavaliers emi- 
grated from the home of some particular dialedl, but it did 
not seem to find a place in the new settlements, and we 
inherit our speech from these stocks singularly free from 
British provincialisms, and perhaps this is the reason 
that it is spoken in this country with greater general 
uniformity and purit}^ than in any other quarter of the 
globe, except among the educated classes, who speak it 
the same everywhere. When we consider the immense 
increase in our population — the many millions that are 
added to it with every decade — we cannot but feel that the 
people of this country will exercise a very great influence 
upon the scope and fortune of the English tongue. We 
are only a century old, and before another one rolls 



390 NECKSSITY OF I.KARNING KNGI.ISH. 

away it is estimated that we will not fall short of 480 
millions. This enormous population speaking the same 
language will present to the philologist a grand spe(5la- 
cle, that will excite his wonder at its growth throughout 
the vast regions of our country and of its mighty Anglo- 
Saxon power and influence. 

There are many people who think it a wonderful 
accomplishment to speak French or German, who can- 
not speak their own language with propriety. I would 
find no fault with their knowing these languages, but I 
would admonish our young friends that it is better for 
them to understand English than any other, for we can 
speak of it no longer as an inferior tongue, and it is 
distinguished among them all for terseness and strength. 
It is no loniger decent to speak poor French instead of 
your own sweet and beautiful English. If our young 
ladies would study it with the same diligence that they 
do a foreign tongue, they would charm and delight the 
foreigners with whom they affe(5l to converse in their 
native idiom. I hold that there is nothing in the social 
amenities of society more attracftive than the conversa- 
tion of our own women. There is a peculiar ingenuous- 
ness in their sele(5lion of words, and a pidluresqueness 
in their ideas that make them very charming ; and I am 
surprised that their education in their mother tongue is 
not regarded as of far more importance than the fadti- 
tious display in either French or German. It is well 
enough for those of other nations to learn English, 
because it is spreading all over the globe, and can- 
not be overlooked by those who expect to hold inter- 
course with the world. Fortunately this is not imposed 
upon Americans unless they intend to reside abroad. 



DISSKMINAl^ION OF KNGI.ISH. 391 

or to Spend much of their time in some other country, 
or engage in trade with other nations. 

In the early part of this chapter I referred to the 
wide-spread dissemination of the English, and I now 
revert to that suggestion. It is estimated that the 
present population of the world is not less than fourteen 
hundred millions. Of this number more than one 
seventh speak English, and probably more than one 
third are under Anglo-Saxon rule. They are more 
numerous than those who speak any of the Indo-Euro- 
pean languages. The dependencies and colonies of 
Great Britain alone cover about one sixth of the land 
surface of the earth, and to this must be added the vast 
territories of the United States. Of the available terri- 
tory in the temperate zones and Australasia eighty per 
cent, is calculated to belong to the Anglo-Saxon race. 
English is as strong and aggressive as those w^ho speak 
it, and drives other tongues out wherever it gains a 
foothold. The discovery of the Mississippi having been 
made by her emigrants and missionaries, gave to France 
that stupendous valley and extended her possessions 
from Quebec to the Gulf of Mexico. Her settlements 
upon its banks extended a thousand miles above the 
ocean, and the language of the grand nation was the 
only one spoken from the Lakes to the Gulf. At length 
the Anglo-Saxons set foot upon its soil, and soon estab- 
lished their supremacy, developing the resources of this 
great region, and prepared it for the order and freedom 
of our institutions ; and now English is spoken by the 
millions that occupy it, except an inconsiderable number 
of Canadian-French and a bare vestige of the same race 
in the precincSls of New Orleans. It may seem dream- 



392 DISSEMINATION OF KNGI.ISH. 

like and mythical to the new generations that previous 
to our war with Mexico the language of Spain extended 
over the Pacific slope, Arizona, and New Mexico, but 
its accent has died out, and in its place we have created a 
new empire of English speech . Indeed , when we consider 
the English speaking races we cannot help our surprise 
at its marvelous growth and diffusion. At the begin- 
ning of the 1 2th century, when English may be said to 
have become a national language, the population of the 
British Isles did not exceed all told much over two mil- 
lions. This, of course, is only a proximate calculation, 
for no enumeration of the inhabitants was ever made in 
those remote days ; and war, pestilence, and famine were 
so destru(5live that there was no increase for several cen- 
turies. The lyondon of today contains more than three 
times that number, and the United Kingdom and Ireland 
will not fall short of forty-four millions. The English 
speaking peoples are greatly on the increase, and are 
rapidly extending their territorial limits and their speech. 
In the United States upon the most moderate basis it is 
calculated that the current census will not fall short of 
sixty-five millions, while Canada and the British posses- 
sions show several millions more. A great part of the 
West Indies and all along the shores of the Caribbean 
Sea have been brought into the English speaking domin- 
ion. From the Bermudas to the Bahamas it constitutes 
the language of travel and commerce, and is the popular 
diale(5t of the people throughout those widely extended 
archipelagos. It is firmly planted in British Honduras, 
in Demerara, and the Belize. It has, of course, followed 
the British acquisitions in Venezuela, which are said to 
be three times as large as New York and New England, 



DISSEMINATION OF ENGLISH. 393 

and abounding in all sorts of natural riches. The Isth- 
mian Canal is carrying it across from sea to sea. On the 
Pacific shores it is spoken from the point where Alaska 
touches the confines of human habitations down the 
entire coast to where the equator divides the hemis- 
pheres. Crossing over to India and other parts 
of Asia, there are several millions who can and 
do speak English with ease and fluency. The 
statel}' Burmese and the warlike Afghans are proud 
to learn a few of its words, and the pious Hindoo 
shows his appreciation whenever he has an oppor- 
tunity to use it. This is especially the case from 
Bombay and Calcutta to Ceylon. It has made its mark 
on the Malaj^an Peninsula and Hong Kong, and is 
making its way to Canton. All the semi-civilized races 
of Southern Asia are familiar with its sound. It is 
ready to spring upon and overrun Corea, and is taught 
in the schools of Japan. 

In Africa the prospedls of the English language are 
on a scale of unexampled magnitude. It appropriates 
the vast regions of Bechuana Land, Natal, and Cape 
Colony, and runs along the western side over Sierra 
Leone, Logos, Buthurst, and the gold coast. The explo- 
rations of Livingston and Stanley have borne it along 
the rivers and forests of the Dark Continent, where it is 
destined to make for itself a home, as it has on the banks 
of the Ganges and Mississippi. By the treaty between 
Great Britain, Germany, and the Congo State, the prov- 
inces of England constitute one of the largest territorial 
divisions on the new map of Africa. They stretch away 
into the interior, upon the margins of gigantic rivers, 
until they reach the Zambezi in the southeast, in close 



394 DISSEMINATION OF ENGI.ISH. 

proximity with her colonies on the island of Zanzibar 
near the east coast. She also rules Egypt, holds both 
sides of the Arabian Gulf, with several groups of islands 
in the Arabian Sea to prote(5l her route to India. The 
British flag flies nearly around the whole Continent. 

The islands on which English is spoken are very 
numerous — all over the earth from Heligoland to Poly- 
nesia, and from Australia to Yokohama. At a distance 
of 2300 miles from San Francisco lies the Hawaiian 
group, the natural stopping place for the trade and 
shipping of the United States on the route to 
Australia and Asia. It may very justly be called 
an American colony, for its language is ours, as 
are most of its business and capital. A little further 
to the east and south it cuts the equator, and is spoken 
on many of the islands in the great archipelagos, which 
at near intervals are thickly scattered in these remote 
waters. We find a new world of English in Australia, 
which is an empire in itself, with outposts in New Guinea, 
New Caledonia, the New Hebrides, and many other clus- 
ters that dot the surrounding ocean. From the distant 
points of the Indian seas our speech travels home by 
the Red Sea and the Suez Canal, having made the tour of 
the world and swept the round earth as the vast field 
of its wonderful achievements. Its ever increasing area 
also gives it great prominence in the eyes of the linguist, 
for it can be made applicable to all the business and 
commerce of the world, and it is not a wild conjedlure 
that it may soon be spoken in every districft of every 
country on the face of the earth. It sweeps over oceans, 
mountains, and continents, and penetrates into the most 
hopeless barbarisms, to find unknown races, unheard of 



DISSKMINATION OF ENGLISH. 395 

tongues, and raises its voice in the wildernesses of Africa 
and the jungles of India, in the polar regions of eternal 
snow, and in the burning sands of the desert. There 
does not appear to be any limit to its progress, and no 
element of nature can saj^ to it, *' Thus far shalt thou 
come and no farther ! ' ' The number of those who speak 
it is constantly increasing. In this country, for instance, 
the immigration amounts to thousands upon thousands 
every year from all nationalities. The German, the 
Italian, the Swede, the Norwegian, the Austrian, the 
Pole, and the Frenchman help in greater or less propor- 
tions to swell the aggregate, and most of these acquire 
a knowledge of English, and it is taught to their chil- 
dren, and several millions are added to our English 
speaking population every decade. The constant flow 
of our people abroad makes it an obje<5l of special pecun- 
iary interest in the different countries they visit to culti- 
vate a familiarity with our language, that the}^ may profit 
by our liberality. Wherever an opportunity offers to 
invest capital or settle a new country it is sure to go, 
and it usually influences others more than it is influ- 
enced by them. The main reliance of any spoken tongue 
is its fitness to enter into the ordinary affairs of the peo- 
ple, and in this respecft our own is unrivaled. It can 
accommodate itself to any kind of business, and to 
every species of enterprise. There is no people that it 
will not suit, and there is no pursuit that it cannot describe 
and follow in all its details. There are many inventions 
and discoveries to which we apply learned names com- 
pounded from Greek or Latin, when we can compound 
one from good English that would much better express 
the conception. It is not unusual for a man with a 



39^ CUI.TIVATION OF KNGI.ISH. 

smattering of the classics to plume himself upon an 
appellation for some new article, when, if he would 
exercise one half the ingenuity he could find a more 
suitable one in the words of ordinary conversation. 
There is no reason in compelling a man to understand 
such hybrids as phonograph, graphophone, telephone, 
bicycle, velocipede, and such like, for articles of com- 
mon use, and which very few understand, and which 
have really no meaning at all to the great mass of those 
who use them. But there is no man so void of common 
sense as the one who is affedled with a mania for terms 
of this kind. He is either a sciolist or a pedant, and 
there is little hope that he will ever see his extravagance. 
There are many people who seem to think that a knowl- 
edge of any language but their own is the end of educa- 
tion. We can all remember when most of the years 
devoted to education v>^ere taken up with the study of 
Greek and I^atin. This was fitting to the time, for there 
was not much else to be known. But the world is not the 
same, and the range of knowledge has been infinitelj^ 
extended. The English was not then what it is now. 
Its literature and philosophy, its arts and science, have 
taken on a splendor that surpasses all that was known 
to Greece or Rome, and those who speak it need go to 
no other country and no other age than their own for 
any branch of learning. It is, therefore, a matter of 
great importance that its cultivation should not be post- 
poned for that of other tongues, ancient or modern; and 
it is gratifying to know that its history and stru(5lure 
engage the best scholarship in the countries where it is 
spoken. The languages of the world are still subje(5ls of 
much speculation, and there is scarcely a reliable mode 



THK I^ANGUAGES OF THK WORI.D. 39/ 

of determining their kind or the number spoken by the 
different races and sub-races on the continents and 
islands. Many of them have never yet been explored 
by any European people, and if it were possible to 
enumerate them, it would probably be impossible to 
classify them into systems of ethnological distindlions. 
An approximation to the lingual conditions of the world 
is all that can be at present expecfted, nor is it, indeed, 
necessary to our purpose that a greater degree of cer- 
tainty should be obtained. The diligent explorer 
could give only a few of the three thousand that are 
supposed to be spoken, and conjecflure from apparent 
resemblances that these few belonged to some stock from 
which they had branched off. For instance, in the 
islands of Polynesia there are several races of men, and 
a classification has been attempted on the basis of color, 
some being brown, others black, and many of them 
yellow, and a common origin is inferred for all those of 
the same hue. The same result is sought for in certain 
resemblances of their language, these being traced to 
the nearest continent, the black being assigned to Africa, 
the brown to Asia, and the yellow to the Malayan races, 
whose language appears to have furnished, as is said, 
more words to the various dialedls of the archipeligos 
than those noted from any other source except the 
Arabic. This theory may yield a solid ground for the 
judgment, but quite likely will ultimately turn out to be 
a fanciful speculation. I refer to this simply to illustrate 
the impossibility of a universal language to be spoken 
by every being the same as it is spoken by every other. 
Human speech is not a contrivance to be put upon a 
Procrustean bed, and stretched and contra died in con- 



398 



A UNIVKRSAI, LANGUAGE. 



formity with a general standard. It ever has varied, 
and no doubt ever will vary, with ethnological distinc- 
tions as long as the latter shall exist, and any attempt 
to introduce one would be attended with the signal 
infirmity that it would not remain the same during a 
single revolution of the earth upon its axis. The human 
intelledt cannot invent a language, for the reason that it 
grows out of the surroundings and necessities of man's 
condition, and cannot be prepared for him a priori. No 
one has ever formed an original one consciously, and 
all attempts to construct one will probably prove a fail- 
ure. It would be like asking a man to walk before he 
had the use of his limbs. The vocal organs develop 
like his other powers, and they pick up a word at a 
time, not according to any system or order, but as the 
word is presented, which is the symbol of the objedl to 
be expressed. Objedls or ideas must come first, not 
language, which is only a symbol of the idea. Hence, 
the attempt of the late Stephen Pearl Andrews to invent 
a new language on what he termed a scientific basis, 
reversed the order of nature and was going back to the 
old exploded philosophy that we must settle the principles 
of a thing first, and then observe phenomena afterwards, 
a theory that befogged the world till Bacon exposed its 
fallacy. 

It is not improbable that a language will ultimately 
be formed that shall be understood by the civilized races, 
especially by those that are nearest in blood and contin- 
uity. There may, for instance, be a general union 
formed among those who have sprung from the same 
Teutonic ancestors. The French are themselves more 
than half Teutonic, from the time that Rollo with his 



A UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE. 399 

Teutonic hordes seized one of its fairest provinces and 
propagated their blood through the veins of France 
while adopting its language. The Latin element, that 
so plentifully appears in our English, assimilates it not 
grudgingly to the Latin based tongues of Italy and 
Spain ; and the nations that dwell in the Hast, like Hun- 
gary, Russia, and the Slavonic provinces, are not so 
unlike their western neighbors as to present a barrier to 
a lingual union, to which all may contribute and all 
can understand. From the universal prevalence of our 
own and its absorptive tendencies it would probably 
predominate over all the others, and the language thus 
formed would be of an English type and simplicity. 
It may be safely affirmed that none of the tongues 
now spoken in Europe are adapted to the general 
use of mankind except the English. For instance, 
the German is given to harsh sounds, and employs 
consonants very largely in all its dialedls. The Italian, 
on the other hand, is full of soft sounds, and deals largely 
in the vowels. The difference is so marked in these 
two that a person unacquainted with either would notice 
it at once ; but in English the vowels and the consonants 
are so placed as almost to alternate with each other. 
This produces a very marked degree of strength and 
harmony, and gives to its delivery a power and energy 
that are wanting in the two just mentioned. In French 
the liquids and gutterals are so arranged as to make a 
very pleasing and graceful form of speech, well suited 
to its numerous words of ceremony and phrases of per- 
sonal address. When a Frenchman begins to speak 
you can tell the difference from all others, for he utters 
his sentences in a manner so rapid and runs his words 



400 THK VOWKI.S IN KNGLISH. 

into each other so that they appear to be joined together, 
as if they constituted but one vocable. When we con- 
sider the diversity between nations we get some idea of 
their difference in language. A man from the North of 
Europe sounds the consonants, and drops the vowels ; 
one from the South does just the opposite ; but an Eng- 
lish speaker does neither; he arranges them in such 
sequence as to give the clearest utterance to both. It 
is therefore easier to understand him than the others. 
When he visits other countries he can almost make 
himself understood by using plain English, for the 
reason that it sounds more natural than those that 
abound in more consonants than vowels, or those that have 
more of the latter than the former. It has an advantage 
also in the great simplicity of its syntax. The words 
follow each other to express the idea just as it arises in 
the mind, and all the relations of the sentence are dis- 
tinctly indicated by the particles that conne(5l them 
together. The most illiterate can follow a speaker with 
perfecft ease so long as he uses pure English. It is only 
when he introduces the foreign elements that the former 
gets confused, and is unable to understand what is said. 
A rustic from one of the back distridls heard Daniel 
Webster make a speech, and did not think him much 
of an orator because he could understand every word he 
spoke. The Saxon words are so very simple and at the 
same time expressive that any one of ordinary intelligence 
can follow a discourse without an effort. A man who 
is convinced that he knows what is said feels a degree 
of satisfacflion and is happy in the thought of being 
quite equal to the one who is speaking. If we address 
ourselves to any person who is not acquainted with 



DIFFUSION OF KNGIvISH. 4^1 

English, it is necessary to speak it very distinAly, and 
with emphasis upon the leading words, and in nine cases 
out of ten you will not only arrest attention but impress 
your meaning. The motions and gestures that usually 
accompany what we say enable the person addressed to 
comprehend their import. When, therefore, we speak 
to the native of another country we should use great 
care to speak deliberately, and to use such gestures as 
will convey the sense of the words. If they listen atten- 
tively, we can go over the entire globe without an inter- 
preter and without knowing any language but our own. 
In the case of a foreigner coming into our country, he 
can usually understand us sufficiently to make his wants 
known, and to transadl such business as does not require 
more than ordinary diligence, and he can go about the 
country without any danger in the usual way of travel. 
But when we come to talk to him out of the ordinary 
course, he soon picks up enough to go into matters of 
detail, and before he is aware of it he can express him- 
self clearly on a variety of topics. 

These examples prove the facility with which Eng- 
lish can become a general language, and its general 
diffusion establishes the probability of its becoming so. 
In facft the world is learning English everywhere. The 
foreign missionary work is to be carried on in English. 
My excellent friend the Rev. Dr. Mutchmore, of Phila- 
delphia, in his recent book of travels remarks that the 
missionary need not bother himself about the language 
of the people among whom he labors, 

" but should compel them to learn ours. Supersede tljeir language 
in conversation as quickly as possible." (P. 316.) 

And again, on page 347, he has the following passage ; 
26 



402 KFFECT OF TRAVBI. AND IMMIGRATION. 

"And in this line of acSlion the mission schools and theological 
seminaries are changing their instruction into English ; " 

and he gives several instances where these institutions 
have already made this change. 

There are many languages that can be used for local 
and national regions and particular races of men. 
Every distincfl tribe has a form of speech in some re.spedl 
peculiar to itself, and has been influenced by its situa- 
tion and circumstances. The Indians of North America 
have had innumerable diale<5ls, whose number has never 
been clearly ascertained ; and the thousand and one inhab- 
ited islands in the ocean have had as many more. Indeed, 
all these races differ in nothing so much as in their 
language. Each tribe has its peculiar dialecft, and each 
island is isolated from the others as much by language 
as by the ocean that separates them. We also know 
that among civilized nations the lingual distindlions are 
at least equally great, and that it is only by careful study 
that we can learn the language of any other. Still the 
necessities of intercourse are so constant that a species 
of mutual dealing is maintained, and they are coming 
nearer and nearer. The uninterrupted stream of travel 
is swelling into very great dimensions, and the world is 
getting mixed up considerably. If we may judge from 
present appearances, the nations will intermingle still 
more as time passes on. This tendency to bring those 
who are separated by national and race distindlions into 
closer relations, is greatly precipitated by immigration 
and travel, through the use of steam and elecftricity, by 
railway and steamship, and by the commercial inter- 
course required by the successful prosecution of trade and 
the planting and settlement of colonies. The most distant 



THE GKNKRAI, USK OF ENGI.ISH. 4O3 

peoples are brought into neighborhood, and those who 
are nearest in blood or position are assimilating in their 
sympathies and interests. What a contrast is displayed 
by a book like Trollope's on the United States and that 
recently published by Prof. Byrce. This state of things 
marks an era in the world's history and calls for lingual 
conditions never dreamed of before. The question 
arises, what are the prospedls of the English tongue, and 
what are its resources to meet this new phase of human 
speech ? 

In the first place its expansive genius and its use by 
more people and on a greater extent of the earth's sur- 
face than any other of the Aryan tongues, would seem 
to insure a preference for it in the evolution of the 
biologic law, and there is also a similarity to most other 
tongues to be found in its polyglot elements. A great 
portion is derived diredlly from the French, and num- 
berless Latin terms have come through the same medium. 
We have colonized extensively from Spain and Italy. 
The Germanic and Scandinavian dialects are represented 
in the very basis of its strucfture, and words of the most 
familiar converse are derived from the old Gothic store- 
house. Our terms in astronomy and numbers come 
from the Arabic, and many of our most beautiful terms 
are like those in the tales of "Arabian Nights." We 
have Persian, India, and Chinese words in considerable 
abundance, and, indeed, there is no people that has not 
contributed to our vocabulary ; and such is the plastic 
power of English that it chips and fashions these differ- 
ent epithets like a skillful mason, and fits them into the 
edifice of English speech ; and before a single generation 
has passed away thc}^ look as if the}' had been to the 



404 FOUNDATION FOR GENERAL LANGUAGE. 

manor born. It is this inherent power to vitalize all 
comers with its own forms and grammar that keeps it 
from being anything else than English. Have we 
not here a veritable foundation for a language that 
shall meet all the requirements of a larger and ever 
increasing diffusion among the races who have common 
interests, and are alike affecfled by the progress of 
society ? * 

*The following newspaper article (which comes to hand as I am correcting 
the proofs of the last passages of the text) is so appropriate to the question of a 
universal language, and the preference for English is so clearly and strongly 
expressed, that I deem an apology unnecessary for its reproduction here : 

The Germans not only look upon their language as an integral and essen- 
tial part of the national life, but the more cultivated classes revere it with an 
almost idolatrous veneration. Notwithstanding the difficulties presented by 
its indistinct and crabbed type, its intricate and half-illegible script, its arbi- 
trary genders, its highly artificial inflectional system, and its illogical syntax, 
its study is extolled not only as a means of mental culture and discipline, but 
as an impulse to originality of thought and expression. These facts render all 
the more noteworthy the leading article in the April number, just issued, of 
Prof. Hans Delbruck's " Preussiche Jahrbucher," perhaps the most prominent 
of German literary reviews. Jt is from the pen of Dr. A. Schroer, professor of 
philology at the University of Freiburg, and its subject is the importance of 
introducing into the schools the study of a universal language (Weltsprache). 

The writer begins by condemning all attempts, however scientific, to con- 
struct an artificial language, like Volapuk. No language which possesses 
neither literature, historical development, nor linguistic relations can ever 
serve as a medium of general communication, for the reason that no one will 
take the trouble to acquire it, merely as a " tool of trade," until it becomes uni- 
versal ; therefore, it never can become universal. Such attempts, however, are 
not only idle and aimless, because they can never obtain the general consent of 
mankind, but they are useless, "for," says Prof. Schroer, "there exists already 
a universal language, i. e., a language which, by its spread over the whole 
earth, and by the ease with which it may be learned, has already gained such a 
long step in advance that neither natural nor artificial means can deprive it of 
its assured position as the future medium of international intercourse. And 
this language is the English." 

It is interesting to find this fact acknowledged and promulgated by one of 
the foremost of German periodicals. During the present century the English- 
speaking population of the world has increased fivefold — from possibly 25,000,- 
000 at its commencement to at least 125,000,000 at its close. No other language 
has ever been so rapidly developed. No fact in civil history is more significant 
than this. In all quarters of the world the English language is the conquering 
tongue. The wide spread of the English colonial system, the marvelous 
growth of the United States, and the facility with which it absorbs every for- 
eign element bear witness to this great fact. Therefore, Prof Schroer advocates 
making the study of the English obligatory, not necessarily to the exclusion of 
lyatin and Greek, but at least in conjunction with them. " This," says he, " is 
not a question of taste or of rivalry between the ' moderns ' and the ' ancients.' 
It is simply a historical necessitj'." 

Prof Schroer is careful to warn his readers not to set their aim too high, for 
to learn to speak and write fluently and correctly a language which holds so 
high a place in the scale of culture and refinement as the English, is "mon- 
strously difficult," but for the average man this is not necessary, for even the 
average Englishman has but a limited command of his mother tongue, and the 
daily intercourse of life requires but a small and easily acquired vocabulary. 
This is true of every language, but the absence of puzzling genders, and inflec- 
tions, and syntactical form renders the English easy, in comparison with others. 



ENGLISH TO BE USED EVERYWHERE. 4^5 

We have seen that a man learns his own language 
by use and constant effort. He picks up one word, then 
another, he forms them into sentences and periods, and 
finally talks and writes. This is the work of time, but 
it goes on without much study, and by no particular 
rules. The words come to express a sensation or an 
idea. This is the natural way of learning any language, 
and it is very much in this way that English is taught 
at present throughout the world. There is, of course, 
no expedlation that we can change the language of 
mankind into any one diale(5l, but we ma}^ expedl that 
there will be such a diffusion of our own that its uni- 
formity and knowledge will amount to something very 
like it, and that no education in any country will be 
considered as coming up to the most ordinary standard 
without it. 



" The English," concludes Prof. Schroer, " is the world speech, and will, to all 
appearance, become more and more so every year." — [From the Philadelphia 
Public L,edger and Daily Transcript.] 



THE END. 



INDEX. 



Adverbs, end in /y, 105 

Adverbs, in Kentish dialect, 90 

A and an from one, 108 

Adjectives, comparison of, 78 

Again-bite of Conscience, 89, 90 

Alfred the Great, 26, 32, 61, 75 

Alexanderine metre, 103 

Alexander, 67, 102, 104 

Alliteration in Saxon versification, 29, 67, 50 

Ancren Riwle (Ancient Rule), 57, 58, 59, 60, 62, 67, 68, 69 

Anglo-Norman, corruption of, 71 

Anglo-Saxon, 5, 12, 24, 25, 26, 33, 36, 37, 38, 41, 42, 43, 47, 48, 60, 

62, 63, 66, 162-169, 198, 174, 175, 198 
Anomalies in dialedls, 74 
Aquinas, Thomas, 192 
Aryan, preserved in Lithuania, 10, 11. Indo-Buropean, 11. Asia 

their home, 13 
Armorica, 97 
Aristotle, 74 

Arthur, Round Table, 32, 46, 45, 54, 55, 68, 97-100 
Arithmates, Joseph of, 99 
Attila the Hun, 23 
Auxiliaries, shall, will, and would, 93, 48 



B 



Bacon, Francis, 181, 276. Jonson's description of, 278. Hobbes, 
his disciple, 278. His Novum Organum, 279. His Advance- 



408 INDKX. 

ment of Ivearning, 276-7. Hallam on his I/atin style, 279. 
Ivovejoy's book, 279. Bacon's theory of spirits in bodies, 279, 
280. His Idola, 281. His compositions in English, 282. 
Baconian philosophy, 283. His language, 284-5-6 

Bacon, Roger, wrote in Latin, 105. His works, 105. 

Barbour, John, his Bruce, 143 to 146. Extract from, 145. Pinker- 
ton's remarks upon the Bruce, 147 

Baxter, Richard, 343 

Ballads and songs, 223-4 

Bards, Cymric, 97 

Bede, 26, 27, 33 

Beowulf, Poem of, 16-19 

Benot de St. Maure, 104 

Bibles, the English, 87, 150, 152 

Boethius, 33 

Bohan, Sir Humphrey de, 100 

Bracton, Henry, 106 

British Museum, 72 

Brittany, a Celtic Colony, 97 

Book of Demeanor, 225-6 

Brock (on the Ancient Rule), 62 

Brown, Sir Thomas, 294 

Brunne, Robert de, 81-85 

Brut of Ivayamon, 20, 46, 47, 5o, 52, 43, 44, 45, 4^, 47- Fable of, 
44, 45. Words in, 49. Versification, 50, 51. Character and 
travels of, 53, 68. Lines from, 55, 56 

Braunanburgh, a war song, 16 

Butler, his Hiidibras, 320. Taine's opinion of, 320. Extradl, 321. 
His metre, 322. Defaces our language, 322. Popularity of, 323. 

Bunyan, John, 345-354. Plis Pilgrim's Progress, 346. Its Vocabu- 
lary, 93 per cent. Anglo-Saxon, 351 



Canon Tayi^or, 13 
Canterbury, Town of, 23 



INDEX. 



409 



Caednion, 25-29 

Canute, 29 

Caledonians, 134 

Caxton, 84 

Celts, 18, 19, 22, 23, 24, 74, 75, 97, 99 

Charlemagne, 46, 67 

Chaucer, 152-182. His poems, 157-8. His use of Norman French 
words, 160. Description of Canterbury Tales, 167. The words 
he has made standard English, 172-3. His ^ final, 176-7. His 
plural in es. His nam or nys joins a pronoun to a verb, 178. 
e final in adjectives, 178. How his verbs end. Yng for present 
participle, 178. Influence of his poems, 181. Midland diale<fl, 
186 

Cicero, 43 

Church, Ordinances against the, 194 

Clergy, Satires upon the, 193 

Colet at Oxford, 189, 192 

Colgrim and Childric, 55 

Conquest, the Norman, 39 

Conybeare, 29 

Cornwall, 65 

Cranmer, 195-6 

Crawfurt, 13 

Cromwell, Thomas, 195 

Cursor Mundi, 85 



D 



Danes, the, 32, 35, 64 

Dares and Dictys, 104 

Defoe, 221 

Demosthenes, 59 

Diale6ls, origin of, 64. North and South, 105. Terminations 

dropped, 105. Three in Early English, 75. Diversity of, 180 
Dorsetshire, 59 
Dramatists, the early, 207-211. Writings of, 212. Marlowe, Green, 

Nash, Massinger, Beaumont-Fletcher, 221-225 



4IO INDBX. 

Dryden, his rule for translating, 69 

Dryden, 324-340. His satires, 324. His Absalom and Achitophel, 
324-5-6. Ingredients of his language, 326-7-8. Proportions 
thereof, 327-8-9. His language, 320. His MacFlecknoe, 330. 
His Virgil, 331. Ode, id. His poetical measure and his works 
in prose, 333. Essay on dramatic poetry, 334-5. He defends 
rhyme, 335. Abandons it, 336. His vigorous style, 336-7-8-9. 
Dr. Beattie's opinion of his genius, 339 



EarIvY Engi^ish, a knowledge of important, 9, 71, 72, 73. Early 
English Text Society, 71. Alliteration in, 73. Inflexions, 73. 
Three dialedls in, 73. Literary remains, 96. Alliterative 
poems, 93. Syntax, 100. Literature, 108. es, an, en, 109. 
Earliest form in poetry, 43. e final in Mandeville, 130. In 
Chaucer, 131, 176 

Earle, Mr., 89 

Elizabethan Age, 204 

Elizabeth, fondness for display and its effect upon the language, 213. 
Views of a writer thereon, 213. Extract from Taine, 214 

Ella, II 

Ellis, Mr., 72 

Edward the Confessor, 35 

England, settlement of by Saxons and other tribes, 22. Nationality 
changed, 23. Invaded by Danes, 34 

English, position of words in, 201-3. Earliest form in verse, 43. 
Formation of, 41. Anglo-Saxon in, 41. Glossaries, 65. See 
Early English. The Renaissance, 222. In the i8th century, 
360-1. The Augustan age of our idiom, 362. The authors 
named, present position of, 385-405. Demand for English 
everywhere, 386. New method in, 387. English of Puritans 
and Cavaliers, 388-9. Necessity of learning it, 390. Dissemi- 
nation of English, 390. On the Mississippi, 391. On the Pacific 
coast. New Mexico, Canada, the West Indies, Central and South 
America, India, Asia, and Africa, 393. Polynesia, Australia, the 
islands in the Pacific, 394. Immigration in this country, 395 . 



INDKX. 



411 



In literature and philosophy, 396. The vowels in, 400. How 
to speak it, 401. Foreign missionary work in English, 401. 
Its general use, 403. Its polyglot elements, 403 

Erasmus, 199 

Esquimaux, 10 

Eastra, the Saxon deity, 19 

Essex, 65 

Euphues (John Lyly), 214-220 

Exodus, Genesis, 66 



FabIvK of Layamon's Brut, 44-5 

Father^ the same in Aryan dialects, 12 

For used for to, 105 

Fortescue, 186-7 

Franklin, Dr., 363 

French, Norman, 40, 66, 160 

Fletcher, Beaumont, 207 

Ford, 208 



Geoffroy of Monmouth, 44, 97 

Genesis, Exodus, 65-6, 71, 85-7 

German races, 25 

Gildas, 26 

Gloucester, Robert of, his Chronicle, 76-81 

Gospels rendered into Anglo-Saxon, 33 

Goths, 17, 18. Various names of, 34 

Gothic runes, 35. Particles, 67-8 

Gower, 186 

Grammatical forms, 62 

Grammar, King Henry's, 228. Lyly's, 228. Ben Jonson's, 228. 

BuUokar's, 228. 
Greeks, 74 



412 INDEX. 

Greene, 222, 225 

Grendel, the, 16, 17 

Grocyu, introduced Greek at Oxford, 192 

Grimm, Jacob, on English, 201 

Gautier, Phillip, 103 

Guest, 51 

Gwain, the Green Knight, 45 



H 



H, this letter sounded and suppressed, loi 

Hallam, 43 

Handlynge Synne, 83 

Hastings, battle of, 49, 39, 71-76 

Havelock.the Dane, loi. Sound of ^ in, loi 

Hay ward, the historian, anecdote of, 204 

Hengist, 18, 23, 75 

Henry the VIII., 192-195. His assertion of the seven sacraments, 
193- Styled Defender of the Faith by I^eo X., 193. His pas- 
sion for Anne Boleyn, 194. His marriage with Catherine of 
Aragon, 195. Advice of Thomas Cromwell, 195. The Refor- 
mation not to be attributed to him, 195 

Heptarchy, 26, 63 

Hi equivalent to they, 87 

Hilda the Abbess, 27 

Historical introduction to Middle English, 111-125 

Holland, did the Aryans settle it? 14. Described, 14. Ivife among its 
people, 15. Their worship and superstitions, 15. The Eddas 
and Scalds, 16 

Holy Graal, the, 99 

Hooker, Richard, 288. His style, 288. An abstract, 289 

Hope^ how conjugated in Early English as a verb, 73 

Horsa, 23-75 

Hrothgar, King of Denmark, 16 

Humber, the, 43 

Hugh of the Royal Palace, 99-105 



INDEX. 



413 



Huxley, 13, 63 
Hwas, for whose, 109 



Idyi^s of the King, 46, 99 
It, a modern invention, 109 
l7tg, yng, 105 
Inflexion, 226-7 



Johnson, Dr., 220. His Lives of the Poets, 292. His style, 

language, and an extract, 367-8 
Jonson, Ben, 209. An extract, 210. His mention of Shakespeare, 

210, 211. His book on grammar, 211 
Joseph of Exceter, his poems, 104 
Junius, 29 



K 



Kent, 23 

Kentish adverbs, 90 

Kentish speech and idiom, 90 

King Horn, 10 1 

King Lear, 48 

Knox, 187 



Lamb, Charlies, 209 
Lancelot, 45, 99 

Langland, 20. His archaic words and style, 154-157. Author of 
Piers the Plowman, 156 



414 



INDKX. 



Langtoft, Peter de, 82 

Language, the origin of, i. Among civilized races, 3 

Language, English, 4. Admission of other ingredients, 4. Its 
vocabulary, 5. Anglo-Saxon predominates, 5. Our mother 
tongue, 8. Object of, 10. Of Greenland, Russia, Poles, and 
Laplanders, 10, Indo-European, 11. Affinity of European lan- 
guages, 12, Of literature, 74. Alliteration in, 84. Fusion of 
Norman and English, 103. Growth of language, 245. Languages 
of the world, 396-7. A universal language, 398. English best 
adapted, 399 

Layamon, his Brut, 20, 43-49. Versification, 50-1. Character 
and travels, 53-68. Lines from, 55-6 

Latin derivatives, examples of, 229-233. Proportion of in various 
writers. Hooker, Brown, Bacon, Milton, Robertson, Johnson, 
and Gibbons, 233. Writers in Medieval Latin, Henry Bracton, 
Duns Scotus, William Occam, 106. Words inherited from 
them, real^ virtual , entity, and many others, 107 

Latin, 61, 65, 66, 105 

Lifting, 137 

Linacre translates Virgil and Homer, 192 

Literature under the Restoration, 316-318 

Literary English, 374-5 

Locke, John, 354-5 

Lollards, 150 

Lithuania, 10 

Lycurgus, 74 

Lyly, John, author of Euphues, 205. Called king of letters, and 
reputed author of a new English, 214. Sample of his flattery to 
the Queen, and his labored style, the story of Euphues, his 
influence on subsequent writers, 214-219 

Lily, William, his grammar, 128 

Lydgate, 186 

M 



Mackintosh, 33 
Macpherson, James, 98 



INDEX. 



415 



Madden, Sir Frederick, 44, 48-9, 51, 56, 69, 88 

Malcolm the III. , 137 

Malory, Sir Thomas, 99. His Morte d' Arthur, 99 

Mandeville, Sir John, 126-133. His Happy Isle, 128. Great num- 
ber of his manuscripts, 129. Introduction of l^atin words, 129. 
His work the first in Middle English, 130. His final e. His 
liberality, 132. His spelling, 131 

Manning, Robert, 80-83 

Mapes, Walter, 99 

Marlowe, 208. His Faustus, 208. First to use blank verse. His 
Tamberlaine the Great, 208 

Marsh, 82, 103, 129 

Medieval Saintship, 91-2 

Merlin the Wizard, 99 

Metaphysical poets, 292 

Midland dialects, 65 

Midland superseded all others, 105 

Milton, 37, 99, 297-316. Compared with Homer, 398. Condition 
of our language in his day, 312. His influence upon it, 309. 
Invocation to his mother tongue, 300. His prose, 301. Free- 
dom of speech vindicated, 302-3.- Extracts, 304. The Comus, 

305. The Nativity and other poems, 305-6. His Paradise Ivost, 

306. Addison's criticism, 307. His use of words, 308. His 
inversion, 308. Description of Paradise Lost, 310-11. His 
^'ersification, 315 

Minstrels among the Normans and Celts, 75-6 

Modern preachers speak in Anglo-Saxon derivatives, 95 

More, Sir Thomas, 190-2 

Monosyllables in English, 380-2 

Morris, Dr. Richard, 73 

Morton, Jam.es, 57 

Morte d' Arthur, 99 

Mysteries, moralities, and miracle plays, 212 

N 

Nash , Thomas ,219-221. H is Jack Wilton ,221. His pure English , 
222 



4l6 INDBX. 

Natural objects deified, 20 
Neologisms, French and Latin, 65 
Ness as a suffix, 38 
Norman Conquest, 39 
Norman French, 39-41, 65 
Normans in Scotland, 139 
Nouns, plural in s, es, and en 

Novels, English, 375-378. Imitation of real life, 375. Collection 
of, by Mrs. Barbauld, 377. Impurities of expression in, 376 



O 



Occam, Wir^i^iAM, his works, 106 

Oliphant, Mr., 84 

Origin of local dialects, 64-5 

Ormulum, 47, 64, 88, 89 

Ossian, 98 

Ossian, an example of, 136 

Owl and Nightingale, 65, 66 



Pai^ERNE, Wii^wam, and the Werwolf, 100 

Participles ending in ing, yng^ 105 

Piers the Plowman, 20 

Peninsular war, changes in taste caused by, 212 

Periods distinguished by great works, 296 

Percy, essays, 26 

Picts, 22, 133 

Poetry in the i8th century, including Gray, Pope, Goldsmith, 

Collins, Young, Beattie, Thomson, Burns, 378-380 
Preachers use Anglo-Saxon words, 95 
Preachers of the 17th century. Their influence on our language, 

291-2, 355, 358 
Pronouns, 63, 90, 108, 109, 197 



INDEX. 



417 



Provincialisms, 65 
Provencal poetr}- , 67 



R 



Rawson, edited an edition of King Horn, 102 

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 287. Founder of English speech in the South, 

288 
Reformation, 193-197 
Renaissance in England, 189, 224 
Rhyme, early examples of, 50 
Richard Coeur de Ivion, 76 
Richard Roll, Hermit of Hampole, 93-96 

Richardson, his novels, 375. Their translation into French, 375-6 
Roland, song of, 46-54 
Romance languages, 61 
Romance words, 81. In verse and prose, 97. By Norman poets, 

100-213 
Romances of the Middle Ages, 102 
Romances of Alexander, 102 



Saxons, their mode of life and character, 6, 7, 17, 18, 19, 23 

Saintship and saints, 91, 92 

Scandinavians, 61, 64. Words of, 140, 141 

Scots, 22 

Scoti, 134 

Scotus, Duns, his works, 106 

Scott, Sir Walter, remarks, 142 

Scottish dialects, 133-142. Ellis's opinion of, 133. A dialect of the 
English language, 134. Poets, extracts, 183-6. Broad sound 
of the vowels, 135. Inglis of the Northern I^ede, 135. The 
Border, 224 

Schoolmen, the, 107 



4l8 INDBX. 

Semi-Saxon, 43, 65-67. Ivingual ingredients, 71, 72. OrthogTaphy, 

72 
Se, seo, theat, 36, 81 
Shultu,for shall Ihou, T02 
Sidney, 219 

Skene's Celtic Scotland, 134 
Snorro metres, 17, 19 
Sound, sensations of, i. Words derived from, 2. vSense and sound, 2. 

Views of Max MiiUer, 2. th and 2V, 35 
Suffolk or Midland, 65 
Spenser, 99, 290-1 
Solon, his laws in verse, 74 
Shakespeare, 234-274 
Spain, Romance writers of, 375 
Spelling, 131 
Swift, the Dean, 224. Represents the Saxon genius of Knglish, 364. 

Extract, 364-5 



TAll.r.KFKR, 75 

Tenacity of the vernacular, 40 
Tennyson's Idyls of the King, 99 
Thanet, the Island of, 23 
The Traveller, story of, 17 

The definite article from \>e, 108. Old declension, en, se, \>ael, 108. 
Tht's, Ikey, their, 81 
Th represented by the character tJ, 86 

Theological controversialists. More, Cranmer, Blyot, Latimer, Rid- 
ley, Alynier, 196-7 Middle English assisted by, 196-7 
The Geste Historiale, 104 
Teutonic stock, 64 
Teutonic dialects, 25 
Trouveres, 67, 75 
Trojan Fables, 104-5 
Tweed, 35, 64 
Trench, Mr., 107 



INDBX. 419 

u 



Utopia, 191 



Vkrbs, weak.aud strong, 130. In English, 199. Auxiliaries, 199. 
To write, 199. Inflexions, 200. Position of, 201. Use of, 227 



w 



Wage, 44 

Waddington, William of, 83 

Walton, Izaak, 341-343. His Complete Angler. Simplicity of style. 
His pure English. Williamson's opinion of. His words, 344 

War of the Roses, 105, 187-8 

Werwolf, William of Palerne, 100 

Wicklifife, 147-150 

Will, ijuilling, willingly, 37-8 

Words where the derivatives are lost, 3. Parvenu, 3. Father, 
brother, sister, husband, mother, etc., 12. Of Danish origin, 
32. Of Anglo-Saxon origin, 36. Compounding of, 37-38. Ob- 
solete in I^ayamon, 77. In Shakespeare, 78. Of Celtic origin, 
78. Teutonic origin, 23. Love, zvife, home, 2$, 26. Words that 
have altered their spelling, 49. Words from old Norman, 103. 
From the schoolmen, 107 

Who, which, whom, etc., 197 

Writings of the 13th century, 68. Of the 17th century, 341-343 






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